


Trapped

by JayceCarter



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Abduction, Dark, F/M, Rape, Rape Recovery, Slavery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-03-01 14:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 41,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13297146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayceCarter/pseuds/JayceCarter
Summary: Amy has been abducted by an evil and sadistic Ahzrukhal, with no hope of escape. The only ally she finds is the ghoul who works for her captor, but that is the last person she should trust.Charon has always done what was asked without hesitation. However, when Ahzrukhal captures and imprisons Amy, Charon is trapped between his contract and his conscious.The two find themselves at the mercy of Ahzrukhal, and the only way either of them will find freedom is if they can learn to rely on each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my second Charon fic. A warning in that this will have some dark stuff in it. Amy is captured by Ahzrukhal and suffers greatly at his hands, something that Charon is unable to stop. I am warning now so that if anyone is triggered or upset about such material, they can skip this story.

Charon closed his eyes to shut out the sight. The girl sat in the small room, a bruise on her cheek, tears in her eyes, shaking and breathing too damned fast.  

 

Fuck.

 

He walked toward her, ignoring the way she curled in on herself.

 

She was so damned small there in the corner of the mattress on the floor. A girl like that should be in a home, a real home. She should have people looking out for her, taking care of her. Last place she should be was locked in a filthy room at the mercy of a ghoul like Ahzrukhal. Her gaze stayed down on the floor, arms covering her nudity. Her bare leg, the curve of her back, the points of her spine, they all showed with scratches and bruises.

 

Charon unbuttoned his shirt.

 

She cried harder.

 

Right. Of course, she’d jump to the wrong conclusion if she saw him taking his clothing off. “No, smoothskin. I’m not going to-“ He snapped his mouth shut. He didn’t like to lie, and he never knew what Ahzrukhal might order him to do. He pulled the shirt off and tossed it at her. “Just thought you’d be more comfortable if you had something to wear.”

 

Her shaking hands took the shirt and clutched it to her. She didn’t drape it around her as if she didn’t even trust herself to uncurl from the ball she’d gotten into. Instead, the shirt went over her breasts and pooled over her lap.

 

Charon crouched in front of her but kept a distance. Didn’t want to crowd her. “What is your name?”

 

She didn’t answer, didn’t meet his gaze. Seemed she planned to ignore him.

 

He sighed and pinched the small bump at the bridge of his nose that remained. “My name is Charon. I have no wish to hurt you.”

 

The bruises on her arm, the blood on her lip, they said she’d already been hurt. Hard to convince someone in that position that you weren't the same, especially when you were the same. 

 

Fuck Ahzrukhal, the sadistic bastard. He wished someone would put the asshole down.

 

“Do you need anything?”

 

Still, she said nothing. Why would she, though? He knew what he looked like, knew what he was. After what she’d been through at Ahzrukhal’s hands, why would she ever trust him?

 

She shouldn’t, either. If his boss told him to anything, he’d do it. That included hurting her. It included dragging her back. It included killing her if she became a threat to Ahzrukhal.

 

“Are you injured? I have medical supplies, and I can treat simple wounds. You don’t want any infections.”

 

She shook her head.

 

It would be wiser to check for specific injuries and treat them, but that did not seem to be a possibility. She didn't trust him enough for an examination, and he had no desire to force on on her. Instead, Charon took a stimpack from his pocket. “This will help heal the bruising.”

 

His fingers grasped her arm, ignoring the flinch and avoiding the finger-shaped bruises already there. He held her tight enough to keep her still but loose enough to not add extra marks.

 

Charon had done enough damage in his life, had harmed enough people. He’d stopped thinking about it, stopped feeling it, stopping remembering it. Why think about things that couldn’t be changed?

 

He pressed the syringe into her arm and injected the chems. Ahzrukhal would be pissed to find out he’d wasted a stimpack on the girl, but he hadn’t forbidden it. Charon could shoulder the anger if it meant the girl could get a little rest.

 

“You want some med-x? It’ll help you sleep while you heal.”

 

Still nothing.

 

He released her arm, which she snatched back and tucked between her stomach and her legs.

 

Charon shifted and sat beside her, his back against the wall so she could see him, would know he wasn’t going to attack her, wasn’t about to pounce on her.

 

Not that she’d believe it, but hell, having the enemy in front of her might help her relax.

 

Ahzrukhal would leave her alone for a day or two, at least. He was old when he’d turned, already near death. It meant he lacked stamina, lacked strength or endurance. Hell, these little games of his required chems for him to get it up, for him to last any length of time.

 

Even the girl smelled of the psycho Ahzrukhal had sweated on her.

 

At least she would have a few days to herself.

 

Ahzrukhal would have no use for her until then. It was, perhaps, the only benefit, for whatever that little benefit was worth. He was not a fan of conversation or company. If he kept a girl for any amount of time, sex was the only interest he had in them. Not much a silver lining.

 

He wished he had something to offer her, some little bit of hope, something to help. He had nothing, though. Nothing to take away the sting, no promises or hope. She was there until Ahzrukhal grew tired of her and she died.

 

Neither she nor Charon had any freedom. They were both there for as long as Ahzrukhal wanted.  

 

#

 

Amy stared at the ghoul who sat beside her.

 

Charon, he’s said. He didn’t move, so still, eyes closed, she’d have thought he slept. He was larger than any ghoul or man she’d ever seen, and the lack of a shirt made him appear even larger, like a monster.

 

Funny, since Ahzrukhal was the real monster and he was small. Thin, frail, well dressed and well spoken. She’d learned her lesson, hadn’t she?

 

This wasn’t her vault where she had years to get to know people. She’d walked into the Underworld with Ahzrukhal speaking so sweetly to her. He’d given her free drinks, offered her compliments, sounded like the prince charming she’d read about in the trashy romance novels she stole from the Overseer’s office.

 

Her head had grown fuzzy, the drinks clouding her mind. No, not the drinks, but whatever he’d poured into them.

 

When Amy had woken, she’d found herself in this room, dark and locked and alone.

 

She’d screamed, but no one had come. Whether she was far away or the room was simply soundproofed, she had no idea.

 

It had taken hours for Ahzrukhal to show, an ugly smirk on his lips. He’d spoken sweetly at first, and she’d almost believed it. She’d cried, and he’d hugged her, shushing her, rubbing his hand against her back.

 

And then she’d realized it was him. He’d done it.

 

Her arms wrapped tighter around her as she remembered the stench of his breath and the grip of his hands.

 

She shook. The mixture of adrenaline from the stimpack and the realization that this wasn’t over hit her.

 

When it was happening, when he was on top of her, it was survival. It was pain and fear and urgency. Now? Now those things melted in the silence and the realization that she was still there. Eventually, that immediate fight or flight seeps away and whatever this was remained in his place. 

 

“Breathe, smoothskin.” Charon didn’t open his eyes, didn’t leer or crowd her. “Slowly. In. Out.”

 

Amy followed his voice, the rumbled directions, until her lungs stopped burning. Her head rested against the wall, eyes open because she didn’t trust the ghoul enough to close them.

 

“Amy,” she whispered, as if her name offered some small thank you. 

 

And thank you for what? For not behaving as a monster, yet? 

 

His eyes opened and he twisted his head to cast her a side-glance. He said nothing at first, just stared at her, face closed off. Finally, he nodded and returned to his previous position, closing his eyes.

 

He didn’t move again, a statue there, and eventually it got to her. Her eyes drifted close, the horrors of the day, of whatever her life was now, of the uncertainty and fear dissolving against her exhaustion.

 

The last thing she heard as she fell asleep was Charon’s low, rumbled voice. “Goodnight, smoothskin.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

 When Amy woke, Charon had gone. She hadn’t even realized she’d fallen asleep, and either he was silent or she slept heavily because he hadn’t woken her.

 

Food sat on a table in the corner, and a few books rested by the door. She didn’t move off the mattress right away, his shirt still wrapped around her. A blanket had been placed on her as well, though she didn’t remember how.

 

Charon?

 

It had to have been.

 

When her back started to ache, she gave in and sat up.

 

The stimpack had done its job, the pains in her body having eased throughout the night. The dark bruising on her thighs had lightened to the green colors that happened as it faded.

 

Why would they have given her a stimpack?

 

She hadn’t thought Ahzrukhal would care about her health. She hadn’t been close to death, hadn’t been seriously injured, at least nowhere visible. Stimpacks were an expensive commodity and wasting them on some bruising and minor injuries was stupid.

 

Maybe he enjoyed games.

 

Perhaps that’s what Charon was. Good cop, bad cop? An attempt to get her to trust in Charon, perhaps?

 

The ghoul had treated her with kindness, or at least a lack of animosity. She wasn’t sure how to deal with that, what to think about it.  

 

When her head spun from the endless questions and her stomach rolled from a lack of food, Amy pulled herself to her feet and padded across the floor to the nightstand.

 

She checked the drawers. Nothing. Not that she expected clothing or anything useful.

 

Instead, she took the plate of food. It was cold, though the way it stuck to the plate said it had been warm at one time. She returned to the mattress.

 

She pulled the shirt fully around her and buttoned it up the front. It only fell to just above her knees, but it was better than nothing.

 

Her mind wandered as she picked at the food, the silence of the room pulling her into thought.

 

The vault, the place she’d wanted to escape for so long, and she missed it. She missed the walls, the way the closed door let her know nothing was coming in.

 

Sure, she’d fought against it. She’d rebelled like anyone had. She and Butch would hide out in the lower levels of the vault, the closed off spaces they weren’t supposed to be in. They’d lay there and fantasize about the world, about where they’d go, what they’d do.

 

Butch wanted to set up his own gang, a real one. He wanted power, to rule over something, to be his own boss to have people look up to him. In the end, he wanted to be important.

 

Amy? She’d wanted to stand on her own. She’d wanted to see the big world outside that vault door, to make an impact on it, to matter.

 

Maybe that was why she and Butch had gotten along. Even when they butted heads, even when they fought, they’d still seek each other out at night. They’d hadn’t had sex, no matter how much they both had wanted to. Too afraid of her father finding out, too eager to buy into some fantasy where they had some big future ahead of them.

 

And what did it matter in the end? She’d waited for some foolish romantic dream that Ahzrukhal had torn away.  

 

What was Butch doing then? Back in the vault, his mother alive and terrorizing him?

 

Amy would do anything to go back, to leave that locked room, to leave Ahzrukhal behind, to run away from everything she’d found in this world, all the things she’d thought she’d wanted. She'd run back to the vault and forget all about her father. It was clear, she wasn't strong enough for this world, for surviving it. 

 

The door opened, causing Amy to pull her knees to her chest out of instinct.

 

Charon stepped into the room, seeming even bigger than he had the night before like he’d grown another foot over the time she’d slept.

 

His gaze drifted over her, shifting from her to the food plate. He frowned as if he found her progress disappointing.  She’d only managed an ounce, if that, worth of whatever had been left on the plate. Squirrel bits? Rad roach? It was a meat of some type, stringy and overcooked.

 

“Come on, smoothskin.”

 

Amy stood, using the wall for balance, keeping as much distance between them as possible. “Where?”

 

“Does it matter?” When she neither answered nor moved, he sighed. “You are filthy. I thought you’d like to wash off.”

 

The words reminded Amy of the dirt on her, the filth of Ahzrukhal’s hands, the filth that covered her everywhere. 

 

Charon held an arm toward the open door. “Come on.”

 

She steeled her courage, then forced her feet to move.

 

#

 

Charon walked beside Amy. At least the marks on her face had faded so only light shadows remained.

 

Ahzrukhal hadn’t wanted to allow her to wash at first, calling it a pointless gesture. ‘She’s for fucking, not for looking pretty,’ he’d said.

 

He’d feared he’d lose the battle until he’d pointed out that Amy would last longer if she were cared for better. The scrapes, the cuts, they needed to be properly washed out or she’d end up septic. It amounted to a discussion about taking care of one's toys.

 

The talk turned his stomach. Selling out her future for her present didn’t sit well, to discuss keeping her around for him to use, but if it made the ordeal easier?

 

Charon had made worse deals in his life.

 

Molded drywall crumbled from the bathroom ceiling, but the shower worked. That put it a step above what could be found in most places. Charon had also cleaned the shower, removing any sharp debris on the floor that could harm her.

 

He knew he took up too much space in the small bathroom. Charon had been, at the best of times, a bull in a china shop as one employer had told him. His size, his strength, his lack of tact, it all made him useless for anything but muscle work. Breaking bones and letting bullets fly had proven to be his strength.

 

Most of the time it suited him fine. Find what you excel at and stick with it, he’d figured. Still, when facing the frightened girl, he wished he were different. Softer, smaller, better with words.

 

He shook his head at the pointlessness of the thought. What did it matter?

 

“Can you leave?”

 

“No.”

 

The only way Ahzrukhal had agreed to the shower had been with Charon agreeing to stay with her the entire time.

 

Charon leaned into the shower, twisting the knobs until the water started. It splashed onto the hand he kept in the spray, waiting for it to warm.

 

Once it had gotten luke-warm, the best the old water heater was going to manage, Charon moved to the door and turned, giving her his back. “This is the best privacy I can give you. There is a towel on the counter for you when you are finished, and some clothing beneath that. They are likely too large, but there was little to choose from.”

 

She said nothing for so long, Charon fought the urge to turn, to make sure she still was there at all. The splatter of water against skin said she’d gotten beneath the spray.

 

“Soap and a washcloth are on the tub edge, smoothskin.”

 

She said nothing back, though that didn’t surprise him.

 

Charon hated to talk, instead preferring solitude. What was there to say to most people? His employers made the decisions, which meant when the few who braved an attempt at conversation with him tried, he simply pointed them to Ahzrukhal.

 

Her silence didn’t please him, though. She struck him as the type who spoke freely, the type who would prattle on to herself if no one else was around to listen.

 

He. . . wanted to hear that. He wanted to sit and perform the tasks that soothed him, like cleaning his shotgun, while hearing her speak and move around the space.

 

A hitched gasp from behind him had him freezing. “Are you hurt?”

 

No response.

 

He dropped his tone. “Smoothskin, you must answer, or I will turn around to check.”

 

When he got no response, he growled lowly and turned.

 

Amy knelt in the tub, her head forward, her hands in her hair, eyes squeezed shut. Lathered soap covered part of her body, but dirt remained on her back, in her hair. It seemed she hadn’t had the energy to finish the job.

 

He walked closer and crouched beside the tub. “The soap will aggravate your skin, as will the dirt. Do you want me to help?”

 

The laugh she released was ugly and nearing hysterics. “Are you always so nice to your prisoners?”

 

“You are not _my_ prisoner. If I had a choice, I’d let you go. However, we are both without options, so I ask again, do you want me to help? I will not take advantage, I will not do anything but finish your back and your hair, then help rinse you off. If not, I ask you finish yourself, because we do not have forever.”

 

“I don’t care. It doesn’t matter, none of it matters.”

 

He figured that was as close to a yes as he would get, so he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to the elbow before taking the forgotten washcloth and using the soap to create a lather.

 

He didn’t scrub hard, too afraid of hurting her to risk it. Each stroke of the cloth cause her skin to twitch like tiny flinches. Instead, repeated the motions over her back, her shoulders, the safe areas. She’d seemed to clean the more troublesome spots already.

 

Perhaps that was what brought this on in the first place.

 

The washcloth would not work on her hair, so he rubbed the soap between his hands before working it into her hair. It wasn’t as good as something designed for hair, but in a city full of mostly bald ghouls, shampoo was not something they needed.

 

Maybe washing Ahzrukhal from her would help, at least a little.

 

That was all he could offer her, just tiny kindnesses.

 

He cupped his hands to catch water for rinsing her. The process took a few tries, but once he’d gotten most of the soap off her, he reached forward and shut off the water.

 

She didn’t react when he set the towel around her shoulders, or when he helped her to her feet. Hell, she didn’t protest when he pulled the shirt over her, or when he dropped to a knee in front of her and got the pajama pants on her. The pull string cinched tight around her waist to keep them up. He hadn't attempted to dry her much, so parts of her shirt had darkened from wet spots. 

 

“Why me?”

 

He rose to his feet, the height difference causing her to crane her neck, but at least she looked at him. “I can’t answer that. I don’t think there is an answer. You were simply unlucky, in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

 

She shook her head like she’d found the answer unsatisfying. He supposed he understood that. How many times had he risked a similar thought? Risked wondering why life turned out the way it did?

 

Not for him. Somehow, he managed to not think that.

 

How many had died beneath his hands, though? People snuffed out at the order of men who had no right to draw breath, yet managed to gain power and influence no matter how many good people they destroyed.

 

“Are you not finished with the girl yet?”

 

Amy stumbled backward at Ahzrukhal’s voice, and the ease from the shower burned away.

 

“Yes. I was returning her to her room.”

 

Ahzrukhal lifted his lip to show the perfect teeth. The man kept his outfit flawless, his teeth well cared for, as if those things could hide the way he was rotting, the way turning ghoul had turned him into little more than a corpse. Those things worked, at times, even hiding the real monster beneath them. Fancy words and clean clothes seemed all it took to fool people.

 

“Hurry up, Charon. Your job isn’t to play nanny. Get her back in her room, and then get back to the bar.”

 

Charon nodded to acknowledge the order.

 

Ahzrukhal stormed out, his gaze never actually landing on Amy. He couldn’t care less about the girl right then. Nothing but a toy. 

 

Once gone, Charon gestured toward the door. “Come along.”

 

She followed, having dropped back to her silence.

 

He placed a can of Cram on the small table, the pull-top opening meaning she wouldn’t need anything sharp to get the food. It wasn’t gourmet, but it would keep her from starving in case Charon had to leave. He placed another two cans of water, as well.

 

Purified water was hard to come by in the Underworld since ghouls didn’t require it. Hell, since radiation healed them, they’d prefer the good old rad filled stuff.

 

He made a note to keep his eyes open for some, maybe check with any of the traders who came through. Even the ghoul ones would probably have some purified water to sell. Rad-Away was more expensive and harder to find, meaning keeping her rads down by prevention would work better.

 

“Here is food and water. Please, make sure you eat and drink. I don’t want to return to find you starved.”

 

“How long-“ She cut herself off, snapping her mouth shut.

 

It almost made him smile. “I don’t know. Maybe only the day, maybe longer if I have a job to do.”

 

Her gaze moved past him. “And how long until. . . “

 

“Another day or two, I’d guess. He takes psycho, but he isn’t very sturdy, so he needs a few days before he can take another dose.” He wanted to stay. He wanted to close the door and take a seat like he had the day before when he’d listened to the soft snores as she’d slept.

 

But Ahzrukhal’s order screamed in his head. He needed to get back to the bar, back to his employer, back to his job.

 

He turned, having nothing else to say, no other words that might do a damned thing, and locked the door behind him, trapping Amy inside the room.

 

It made him swallow to keep his food down, to keep her there knowing what would happen to her, but hell, he’d done enough other evil things in his life.

 

He was already damned. What was another terrible thing to add to the list? 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am likely going to be playing a bit with the details of Charon's contract and how it works, as it's an important part of the story. So, if I change some of the details I'm sorry! I'll explain as I go how it works exactly.

It took Charon almost twenty hours before he returned.

 

Ahzrukhal was unhappy after he found out about the stimpack, and because he couldn’t physically punish Charon, he’d decided to send the bodyguard outside to clear super mutants who had set up too close.

 

It wasn’t the first time, it wouldn’t be the last. In fact, Charon had such a reputation with the super mutants, he mostly had to catch them when they saw him coming.

 

Not that it made the job any easier, really. His leg ached from his tangle with a hound that had grabbed him out of nowhere, running around from behind a building to flank him.

 

It would heal, but it would hurt until it did.

 

Strange, however, was the unease in his chest as he’d worked. His mind, normally trained to stay on task, had drifted to Amy again and again.

 

Was she safe? Was she eating? How the fuck could he help her?

 

He set his shotgun down on the table outside of her room. Bringing weapons into a prisoner’s cell was foolish, and even if he didn’t want her as his prisoner, it didn’t change what she was.

 

He opened the door to her room once he’d disarmed, only to be met by a small body knocking into him and pain slicing through his cheek.

 

Instinct honed over years of fighting took over. Charon wrapped a hand around Amy’s throat and slammed her against the wall, pinning her there. She kicked her legs, smacked him with her arms, but her struggles were little more than a radroache’s when he stepped on them. He could crush the life from her body with a twist of his wrist.

 

She swung the make-shift weapon at him again, and he caught that wrist in his free hand. The light caught on the sharp edges of the cram can lid.

 

His hand tightened until the lid clattered against the ground.

 

“Do not attack me, smoothskin,” he growled out, lowering his face to inches from hers. “I will defend myself, and I do not want to hurt you.”

 

She lifted her knee, striking him in the balls. It had him pulling in a ragged breath, but he didn’t release her. Where the hell had this spitfire come from?

 

“Knock it off,” he all but snarled into his face, pinning her with his hips this time. “I will kill you if you force me to.”

 

He hated to have to say it, to threaten it, but it was true. His contract was a piece of work, but part of it was his own survival. He could take out physical threats to him, was compelled to. Probably a means to keep him alive and well so he could do more for his employers. It meant that should she attack him, if she actually proved a threat to his life, he’d kill her for it.

 

And he didn’t want to consider what killing her would do to him.

 

She didn’t stop struggling, so he pulled her away from the wall then slammed her back against it. “Do you want to die?”

 

“Yes!”

 

They both froze.

 

She didn’t stop talking, though. “Yes. Do it. I didn’t think a man like you would be bothered by adding another body to his count.”

 

Charon removed his hand from her throat, backed away, and slammed the door shut to lock them in. He kept her in his peripheral vision for safety, but he couldn’t look at her, especially the red marks on her throat. “So you want me to do it for you? If you wanted to die, you could have used to Cram lid on your wrists.”

 

Her gaze rested on the lid but she didn’t go for it. “I thought about it. I just couldn’t.”

 

He ran his hand over his head, catching on the hair at the base of his skull. “I’m not going to kill you unless I have to, smoothskin. Believe it or not, killing unarmed women isn’t something I enjoy doing.” He wouldn’t say he hadn’t ever done it because lying never seemed worth it to him, but he didn’t want to.

 

More so because it was her. The thought of her corpse on the ground, muscles of her face slack, skin ashy and cold?

 

He shuddered.

 

Amy drew in a deep breath, her voice coming out soft like whatever had driven her had drained away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have expected that from you, it wasn’t fair. I just. . .” She paused, arms wrapping around her. “I don’t think I can do this.”

 

“You can. People never know what they can do until they have no other choice.”

 

“You don’t understand. You’re not someone who knows a thing about not having choices.”

 

He turned fully to face her. “You keep making assumptions about me out of nothing.”

 

He refused to tell her the full truth. The idea of letting her know how little power he had over his own life was humiliating. It was hardly a secret, but he didn’t need to see pity on her face.

 

Instead, he kept speaking. “The fact is we do the shit we have to do to make it through to another day, and we hope that day will be better.”

 

“And what if it isn’t better?”

 

He’d gone through that for so long, he’d lost any real hope of the days getting better. He figured he’d better leave that out of his pep talk. “Then you keep moving forward, day by day. Nothing matters if you die now, there’s no chance of anything more.”

 

“This isn’t his first time doing this. I can tell, in his eyes, in yours. So, Charon, who wants to try and sell me a story about a future, tell me how many he’s killed?”

 

Charon tore his gaze away.

 

“Tell me!”

 

“Thirty-three.”

 

“And how many survived?”

 

“None.”

 

“That’s what I thought. So, if by your whole one more day bullshit, all I get is more of this until I die, what is the point?”

 

Charon’s tongue wet his lips before he said what he knew he shouldn’t. It wasn’t fair to ask it of her, but hell, she deserved all her options. “Be interesting.”

 

“What?”

 

He met her gaze again. “Ahzrukhal see’s you as a thing to play with. Show him more, make it so he wants to keep you around. He’s thrown the women away because they bored him, because he saw them as a body to slate his lust and perversions on, and he saw one as the same as any other. Be different. Be interesting. Play him.”

 

“How? How am I supposed to play a monster like that?”

 

“He has weaknesses just like anyone else. Use them against him. You’re smart enough to manage it. Stay alive long enough, manipulate him enough, and you could get yourself into a position where escape could happen.”

 

“You want me to sell myself out to him?”

 

“Yes. Isn’t it worth your life? You lose a bit of pride, but you gain the chance to get out of here alive. You showed up here with a plan, with things to do. Aren’t they worth it for you to try and survive this, no matter what it takes?”

 

Her gaze hardened, a spark of something he hadn’t seen yet inside her, a backbone he’d feared had been shattered when Ahzrukhal had raped her. A decisive nod sent her short hair into her face.

 

Hell, maybe the smoothskin would make it after all.

 

Maybe.

 

#

 

Amy sat an hour later with Charon on the mattress on the floor.

 

He didn’t speak much, and when he did, he took his time before deciding what to say. He’d sat on across from her, longs legs stretched out, a beer in his hand. His back pressed against the wall, and while he rarely spoke, he watched her with an intensity that unnerved her. Blood had dripped from the open wound on his cheek, but he didn't appear to notice it, or care. 

 

“You need to eat, smoothskin.”

 

“Why don’t you use my name? You know it.”

 

“That name is yours, one of the few things no one can take from you. Even Ahzrukhal does not know your name. For me to say it seems. . . “ he shifted the bottle, the liquid swirling alone the sides. “Unkind. Changing the subject will not distract me. Eat.”

 

“I don’t want to.”

 

“Do you not like what I offered? You didn’t eat the radroach, you didn’t eat the Cram. We don’t have many options, but I can try to find something else.”

 

“Food just doesn’t sound good.”

 

“That does not matter; You need the calories. A fast way to failure is to allow yourself to wear down. You need food, water, sleep, and exercise.” He nodded, fingers rubbing against the beer. “So, eat.”

 

Amy used her fingers to scoop some of the Cram from the can and ate it. It was cold, thick, and unappetizing. Still, Charon had a point.

 

If she wanted to manage this, to outsmart Ahzrukhal, she needed her strength.

 

The idea of taking on that ghoul had her wanting to curl into a ball. How was she going to manage it? How could she play at any game that included him, that meant he’d touch her and she’d allow it? It felt like facing off against a deathclaw, like trying to befriend one even as it tore her apart. 

 

But. . . she wanted to make it back to the vault. She wanted to survive, to see Butch again, to find her father, even. She just wanted something that she wasn’t going to get if she died.

 

She finished the Cram, ignoring the way the fatty contents created a film of grease on her tongue, her throat. Even the water didn’t help to wash it away.

 

Back in the vault, she’d been a handful. Always getting into trouble, well, as much trouble as someone in a vault could manage. She’d been in over her head in the wasteland, but she’d survived longer than most vault dwellers would have. She was stronger than she gave herself credit for, right?

 

She wasn’t going to let something like Ahzrukhal end her if she could help it. “So, what’s his weakness?”

 

Charon tilted his head. “What?”

 

“Ahzrukhal. You want me to play him, and you know him, so tell me. Where is his weak point?”

 

“That’s easy. Ahzrukhal gathers power and does all he does for one reason. It is not money, not women, not even sadistic pleasure. Once you understand what drives him, he is easy to predict.”

 

“And what drives him?”

 

“His ego.”

 

Amy nodded as she closed her eyes.

 

That was something she could work with.


	4. Chapter 4

Amy had grown accustomed to Charon’s presence. He was often gone, though he’d taken to spending more time in her room with her.

 

She hated to admit it, but she’d even started to enjoy him being there. They spoke little, with Charon usually busy cleaning his armor and demanding she eat. He’d ask which books she’d finished and take those away, always returning with more.

 

Little escaped his notice. When she tended to read the romance stories, he’d stopped bringing adventures, instead finding similar books to the ones she read through. Likewise, he would bring more of whatever food she showed an interest in.

 

He never mentioned the items, didn’t gloat over them as Butch had done. When Butch brought her anything, he’d make a production, explain just how challenging they were to find. He’d cared more about what it bought him than whether or not she enjoyed it.

 

Charon didn’t care if she knew he did a thing. She’d often find the blanket wrapped around her when she woke and knew he was the only one who could have done so.

 

He’d left earlier, as he had most days. She was fairly sure he worked mostly in the evening and through the night, the hours the bar stayed open. She’d synched her daily rhythm to mimic his, though she often fell asleep while he was there, anyway.

 

The dress annoyed Amy. Her lifetime in a vault suit hadn’t prepared her for such an absurd piece of clothing. It swung around her legs, brushing down around her ankles, a bow pulling it in to emphasize her waist. The front dropped down, not far enough for any real cleavage, but then again she lacked enough chest to create much cleavage in the first place.

 

He’d brought her a razor and water, warning her sternly about even considering using the razor for anything but shaving. He’d surprised her when he’d turned his back on her, trusting her not to slit his throat.

 

So many tiny things that she’d grown to cherish over the three days of space she’d had.

 

Ahzrukhal opened the door, stumbling in, eyes wide, the stench of psycho wafting in with him.

 

Focus.

 

Amy didn’t cower, shoulders back, face drawn into the sweetest smile. She'd been waiting for it, expecting it. Charon had explained that the ghoul required psycho to get an erection due to his advanced age when he'd changed. It would give her days between his visits, but she'd known her time was running out. By the vacant look in his eyes, the twist of his lips, her time had run out. 

 

Whatever Ahzrukhal saw had him pausing at the door. His gaze raked over her, a slow, lecherous perusal she could feel like claws. “Charon got you these clothes?”

 

“I asked him to. I thought you had to like them better than my old ones.” She shoved the words out, thankful her voice barely quivered.

 

His lips pulled into an ugly smile. “You don’t look like quite the whore you did. I’m not sure I like it.” Even as he spoke, his eyes latched onto the curve of her hip, the dip of the front of her dress.

 

“You’re dressed so well. I didn’t want you to see me in what I had, it didn’t fit with you.”

 

He came closer, grasping her hair and yanking it back hard enough her neck hurt. Whiskey and psycho poured off his breath. “You think I can’t hear the tremble in your voice? You’re terrified.”

 

If she couldn’t hide it, she might as well use it. “Of course I am. You’re stronger than I am. You could do anything to me.”

 

His free hand went to her waist, to the curve of her hip. His fingers were tight, but not vicious like the first time. “Does that excite you? Being with someone who can do anything to you, someone you can’t say no to?” He leaned in, lips close enough they brushed hers when he spoke, the rough edges scratching her.

 

She swallowed down the bile that wanted to escape at his words. No, that didn’t excite her. How could he think any woman would want that?

 

Charon’s words echoed in her head. Because he wanted to be wanted in that way. His ego demanded it, demanded he make himself believe she wanted this, wanted him.

 

So she played into it. “I’m not sure.”

 

“You think I didn’t realize you were a virgin? Of course I realized it, of course you wouldn’t be sure. You lack the experience to understand what you’re feeling.” He loosened his grip on her hair before he kissed her, the psycho making her want to gag.

 

She returned the kiss anyway, not hiding her hesitancy. He didn’t want a whore; he wanted a woman who was more than he could ever get on his own, and he wanted to pretend she wanted him, that he’d won her over. Whores you could buy. He wanted to win.

 

He moved his hands to her dress, gripping the fabric. Would he rip it?

 

No. He gathered it slowly in his fists, lifting it, the chill of the room making her shiver. This was. . . worse, in a way. Having to participate, having to deal with the stroke of his hands like a lover.

 

His lips went to her throat. He whispered against her skin. “No panties?” His fingers pressed between her legs, the fabric of her dress falling around his hand. “And you shaved? I like that. Keep it this way.”

 

He scraped his teeth against her skin, softly enough not to break the skin or leave a bruise. Nothing like the bites he’d left on her the first night.

 

Her bare feet touched the ground as he walked her backward, offering praise against her skin while his fingers pressed into her, preparing her. They lowered onto the mattress on the floor.

 

She fought back the tears, fingers digging into his shoulders. The fear he took as excitement, the sounds she made he took as pleasure.

 

She closed her eyes as he took her. It hurt less than that first time physically, and yet it broke down some part of her she couldn’t name, couldn’t understand. 

 

He finished quickly, as he had the first time. He was a selfish man, one who didn't give a care about the pleasure of anyone else. She wanted to thank God for that, for the fact he didn't try to turn her body against her. As much as she loathed being there, giving in, she couldn't imagine how she'd react if he managed to pull any pleasure from her, if he worked for that. She'd never be able to look at herself in a mirror again.

 

A groan, his fingers digging into her thigh, a kiss on her lips where he plunged his tongue into her mouth, and he was done. She could feel him twitch inside of her, felt the burn from his come, just like the first time. The radiation wasn't high enough to be dangerous, but high enough to aggravate her. 

 

Ahzrukhal rolled off her and dressed in silence. He faced her as his fingers fastened the buttons of his coat. “What is your name?”

 

She couldn’t stand the idea of her name on his lips, the way he’d ruined it just by uttering it. “Sam,” she lied

 

“Sam? What a trashy name. Low class.” He shook his head. “That will never do. Samantha is less white trash. You will answer to Samantha.”

 

Amy nodded as she sat up. Stickiness slid down her thighs from the movement. It burned. “Okay.”

 

Ahzrukhal grasped her throat, thumb pressed to her chin to tilt her head and force her to look at him. “Okay what?”

 

“Ahzrukhal?”

 

He tightened his grip, and Amy’s fingers scratched at his wrist. Her nails caught one of the ridges in his skin, but she couldn’t get purchase. “You do not call me that. You call me master.”

 

Nothing she did could move his hand despite how frail he looked. “Master,” she managed to shove out on a broken gasp, past his hand gripped around her throat.

 

Ahzrukhal released her but pulled her to her feet and into a kiss.

 

She didn’t respond to the kiss as she pulled in ragged lungfuls of air. He moved away from her so fast, she stumbled.

 

#

 

Charon didn’t move when Ahzrukhal passed him. No blood had splattered on the ghoul’s coat, none on his hands, and no screams or cries from Amy had echoed down the hallway as they had that first night.

 

Ahzrukhal hesitated when he passed Charon. “Haul some furniture in there for her and get her some more dresses. I want her washed at least every other day.”

 

Charon nodded. “Understood.”

 

A single finger jabbed toward Charon’s face. “Let me make something clear in case you don’t understand it. You even think about taking advantage or laying a finger on her? I’ll have the doctor castrate you. Samantha is mine. You can put your dick into something else, but not her.”

 

Samantha? Had she given Ahzrukhal a fake name? 

 

He let none of that show on his face, only nodded. “Of course.”

 

Ahzrukhal shook his head and waved Charon off as he stormed away. Psycho always made him moody, more difficult to predict, quicker to let his temper slip.

 

He let him go without another thought, going to Amy’s room instead.

 

Charon paused at her door, head tilted so his ear could catch anything. Would it be tears? Gagging? What would he do then?

 

Only silence met him.

 

An image of her dead flashed in his head. What if she’d found a way to harm herself? Maybe it had been too much to expect from her, maybe playing along with Ahzrukhal had broken her somehow?

 

He opened the door, rushing in, something nearing panic in him. Had he ever felt panic before? He’d never had a reason before.

 

She laid on the bed, back to the door, naked. The sharp points of her spine stuck out, her ribs showing. She needed to eat more. . . 

 

No blood, no new marks. Her ribs shifted as she drew breath, letting Charon breathe as well.

 

“Smoothskin?” He kept his voice soft.

 

“What?”

 

“Are you .  .  .” No, foolish question. Clearly, she was not okay, couldn’t be expected to be. “What can I do?” He grasped the blanket which rested on the ground beside the mattress and draped it over her.

 

When she didn’t answer, he sat on the side of the mattress, her back still to him.

 

“Ahzrukhal has asked me to bring in furniture and more dresses. I thought perhaps a table, some chairs, a real bed frame. Is there anything else?”

 

“So I whored myself out well. Good to know.”

 

Charon turned toward her, face hard. “You are not a whore.”

 

“Not sure you can say that to a girl with come on her thighs.”

 

He rubbed his eyes before setting a hand on her hip. His hand dwarfed her, but he kept it light in case she pulled away. “People do the things they have to do to survive. That does not make you a whore, it makes you smart. Ahzrukhal would have harmed you if you’d struggled, hell, he might have killed you.”

 

Amy twisted until she could face him, her eyebrows drawn together. “And you’re telling me you’d care if he did?”

 

He shifted his hand to her other hip as she rolled over. “Yes, smoothskin. I think I would care.” Instead of listening to anything else she had to say because he’d already said more than he should have, he offered a gentle squeeze to her hip. “I will go gather the items for you. You should sleep. It will take me some time.”

 

Charon pulled the blanket higher around her to ward off the chill in the room before he stood and left her to sleep.

 

While furniture would not fix what was wrong, sleeping in a real bed would make it easier to tolerate.


	5. Chapter 5

 Amy watched him sleep.

 

Charon had brought in the furniture, more dresses, some other clothing items, a few new books. He’d moved the huge items like they weighed nothing, setting the room up.

 

A dining room table in the middle with two chairs, a comfortable fabric chair to read in, a bed complete with headboard. A dresser sat in the corner with the clothing he’d gathered.

 

After the work, he’d sat in the chair to watch her read on her bed.

 

He’d fallen asleep there, making Amy wonder if he’d been sleeping. He spent so much time with her, did he ever sleep? Was he running himself down by spending time with her?

 

He’d been out for a while, his chest rising and falling in even breaths. It gave Amy a chance to really study him.

 

Even in the rare moments when she forgot how tall he was, just how large, any movement by him reminded her. Still, despite his size, despite his brutality, he’d never harmed her. While he slept, his face relaxed.

 

How could someone who seemed as good as he did work for someone like Ahzrukhal? She didn’t understand it, couldn’t figure it out.

 

Was it just the caps? Did they drive him? Did Ahzrukhal have something over Charon that forced him to help?

 

Charon jerked in his sleep, an unhappy grumble on his lips. Nightmares? What would a man like Charon have nightmares about? What could he ever fear?

 

It didn't seem anything could frighten him. He was too large, to scary, too much to fear anything.

 

Amy grabbed the blanket from her bed and carried it over for him. The chill of the room never really went away. He’d done a lot for her, though. She could do something.

 

She leaned in and draped the blanket over him, hesitant. Despite the slight closeness she’d developed with him over the days she’d been there, there was no way to let go of her hesitation entirely. It was in the muscles he carried, in his height. Even in the ridges of his skin that reminded her too much of Ahzrukhal. He'd touched her to wash her, and after Ahzrukhal had left that time, but she'd never really reached out to touch him. 

 

It was too much.

 

The blanket pulled tighter around her as she tucked it around him, into the edges of the chair.

 

At least until his eyes snapped open and his hand shot forward. He latched onto her throat, and perhaps it was the stress of the past days, but she wondered why everyone went for her throat. The absurd thought almost made her laugh even as his huge hand covered her entire throat.

 

Ahzrukhal had such small hands in comparison, and even with the psycho, he’d not been anywhere near as strong.

 

Amy’s hands went to his wrist out of instinct, but she didn’t dig her nails in even as she couldn’t draw air.

 

A heartbeat later, Charon released her, causing Amy to yank back and fall to the ground. Her hands scraped the floor as she caught herself.

 

Charon took in the room in quick jerks of his head like he’d forgotten where he was. “Smoothskin?” He lifted his hand, gaze darting between her and his hand as he woke fully. “You woke me?”

 

“You were mumbling in your sleep. I thought maybe you were cold.” Amy’s words came out harsh, her throat sore.

 

He pulled the blanket off him as he stood, tossing the item to her bed. “That was stupid. Waking a man like that? I could have killed you.”

 

She stared up at him but didn’t rise. “Were you having a nightmare?”

 

The look he turned on her was downright feral. “I thought we were past your death wish. You’re not stupid, so why would you do something so foolish? Never touch me when I’m sleeping, smoothskin.”

 

If he were anyone else, Amy would have shut up. The frantic movement of his eyes, the tension in his shoulders? It said his control was a hard-fought thing in that moment, but she couldn’t let it go. She’d never seen him like that, seen him unnerved. “Tell me what you were dreaming about.”

 

Charon stormed past her, leaving her on the ground. The slam of the door and click of her lock were his answer.

 

#

 

Charon did not return to Amy for a full day. He couldn't face her, couldn't stand to see whatever was on her face. He'd snapped at her, grabbed her, frightened her. She didn't deserve that, but he hadn't been able to help it. When she'd woken him from that nightmare, when she'd asked him about it, she'd been too close.

 

She couldn't know. He didn't want to see it on her face when she realized he was nothing but a slave. So he'd run away and avoided her because he was a coward. 

 

He stood in the bar, gaze taking in the room for any potential threats. Even if he wanted to be lax, even if he wanted Ahzrukhal to be caught unaware, his training wouldn’t allow it. The contract wouldn’t allow it.

 

That damned contract, the thing hidden away in Ahzrukhal’s pocket, the thing that controlled his life.

 

He didn’t even know what it said, not exactly. He couldn’t ever touch it, could do nothing about it. Whoever held it, owned him.

 

How many had he served?

 

Too many. An endless parade of faces and terrible deeds.

 

It was what he’d dreamed of when Amy woke up. He’d been back near the beginning, back when he’d still had something of a soul, perhaps, when the jobs kept him up at night.

 

He saw the face of a woman, older than Amy but not by much. She’d cheated on his master, sleeping with another man, then tried to run.

 

Charon had strangled the life from her, hands around her throat until she’d stopped moving, until her lips had lost their color.

 

What was her name? Why couldn’t he remember? It was the sort of thing he should remember.

 

Any dream would have set him off, but to face off against Amy when that woman's face played through his head? When he'd woken to his hand around Amy's throat, just like it had been around that woman's?

 

“Is your work boring you?” Ahzrukhal asked.

 

“No. What did you need?”

 

“I have a job for you.”

 

“What job?”

 

Ahzrukhal pulled a paper from his pocket. “These settlers are causing me problems. Their security turrets are impacting an important trade route, and despite my best negotiations, they won’t listen. I need you to go remove the hindrance, no matter what it takes.”

 

Charon read over the paper, considering the distance to the settlement. “This will take me at least two days to locate. The girl will require food in that time."

 

Ahzrukhal waved him off. “I can handle feeding her on my own.”

 

The offer, the idea of Ahzrukhal being around her had Charon’s knuckles cracking as he drew his hands into fists. Charon couldn't stop Ahzrukhal, but he could be a buffer for Amy if he was there. Even so, his words left his mouth, trained and practiced. “Very well.”

 

He only hoped Amy still lived when he returned.

 

#

 

Amy smiled when the door opened.

 

It may have taken him a long time, but she knew Charon wouldn’t just leave her. He’d come back, he’d grumble, probably not apologize.

 

No, she doubted she’d hear a sorry from him, but he’d bring her a new book, perhaps some token to say what he wouldn’t.

 

Except, when she lifted her gaze, it was Ahzrukhal who stood in the doorway.

 

“Hello, Samantha.”

 

She swallowed hard and stood. “Hello, master.”

 

His lips tilted up as if she’d pleased him. He held a bowl of food in his hands, warm steam escaping the top.

 

She hadn’t had anything hot since she’d gotten there, and she hated to admit, the smell tempted her.

 

“Sit.”

 

“Where's Charon?”

 

His eyes narrowed before dropping his gaze meaningfully toward the seat at the table.

 

Amy moved quickly, taking the seat he’d indicated.

 

Ahzrukhal set the bowl in front of her along with spoon before taking his seat. “Where Charon is is none of your business.”

 

Amy dropped her gaze and took a bite of the stew. “I’m sorry. I only wondered because you usually don’t bring me meals. I thought maybe I’d done something wrong.”

 

“Nothing like that, no. There was a job I needed him for. Charon is not very intelligent, but he is good at manual work.”

 

“He’s your employee?”

 

“Not exactly. I hold his contract, and that means he works for me.”

 

“Like a slave?”

 

“Aren’t you inquisitive?” An edge of threat rested in his voice. “Need I be worried about the time you spend with him?”

 

Amy shook her head. “No. He’s just very frightening looking, and I thought if I knew more about him, I wouldn’t worry so much.” She let her voice tremble as she lied.

 

She’d love nothing more than to have Charon across the table right then.

 

Still, Ahzrukhal seemed to accept the excuse. “Don’t worry, Samantha. Charon looks scary, but he is harmless unless I order him not to be. I would not trust you with him if I had any worries about his loyalty. With me holding his contract, he can’t disobey me. You are quite safe, dear.”

 

The term of endearment had her appetite leaving.

 

“How is the food?”

 

“Good. Thank you.”

 

He nodded, setting his elbow on the table. “You know, you are the first girl I’ve had who I’ve paid any attention to here. Normally they hold no interest. I’m curious about you, however.”

 

“There’s not much to know.”

 

“That’s for me to decide. Where are you from?”

 

Amy didn’t want to answer. Her past was hers. She didn’t want Ahzrukhal to know about her home, about her father or about Butch. Those things weren’t for him to know, for him to pull apart and infect. Still, she answered.

 

“A vault.”

 

“Not a surprise, not with skin like yours.”

 

They fell into silence as Amy took tiny bites of the stew. Ahzrukhal stared at her, unnerving her. His eyes and calm demeanor said he hadn’t taken psycho, meaning he wasn’t there for sex. Still, she wasn’t stupid enough to believe that was the only way he could hurt her.

 

“What do you want with me?” She asked the words without looking up.

 

“Come here.”

 

Amy set her spoon down and pushed herself to her feet.

 

Ahzrukhal caught her wrist and pulled her toward him, making her sit in his lap, perched to the side. He gripped her chin in his thin fingers. “At first? I just wanted to take you. I wanted to feel you under me, to taste your body, to use you. You walked in here looking so innocent, and I knew I wanted to break you.” He stroked his thumb over her jaw. “Now? I’m not sure. I might still break you. It would be so easy to tear you apart, so much fun to destroy you. However, if I do that, you’re gone. So, I think we’ll hold off a while longer, see how it goes. I’ll probably still kill you, but perhaps you’ll have a while longer before that happens.” He pulled her closer into a soft kiss, then whispered against his lips. “Tell me thank you, Samantha.”

 

Amy whispered back, “Thank you, master.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

Charon let the water wash over him, groaning at the way it aggravated the wounds in his back and side.

 

He’d forced himself into the shower instead of going to check on Amy. She didn’t need to see him covered in blood, didn’t need a reminder of what he could do. There was no time he looked more like the monster he was than after a fight.

 

He didn’t want her to see that, either. She already looked at him with that edge of fear, already kept a distance and watched him when he moved. He didn’t blame her for those things, but seeing him like this would not help her relax. 

 

Still, he worried. Was she all right? Had Ahzrukhal harmed her? A week was a long time to be away, and Charon had no idea if she even lived.

 

Ahzrukhal could have killed her, or she could have killed herself. He scrubbed his hand over his other arm with a rag now stained pink from the blood.

 

“I thought you’d left for good.” Amy’s soft voice barely raised over the water.

 

He didn’t turn. She could see his naked ass, didn’t need a view of anything else.

 

“What are you doing in here, smoothskin?” He twisted his neck to peer over his shoulder while keeping his front toward the water.

 

She didn’t look at him though, her gaze on the floor.

 

Of course, it wasn’t like staring at a naked ghoul was something she’d be interested in, not with her history. He had no illusions that she'd lust after him, even if Ahzrukhal hadn't raped her. She was a beautiful young woman and he was a ghoul. With what had happened, however, there was no chance. Hell, he didn't even think of her in any sexual context. Even when she'd been naked, nothing in him stirred. She was too hurt, too frightened. 

 

The slave collar around her throat answered how she’d gotten in there. Ahzrukhal must have decided he liked her enough to give her a little freedom. The collar would ensure she didn’t escape, but he must have given her access to the entire floor. He'd never let her into the Ninth Circle or any of the main Underworld areas. Despite his power, keeping a slave girl hostage wouldn't be seen as positive. Not to mention, his ego didn't want him to worry people thought he couldn't obtain a woman who wanted him. 

 

“Ahzrukhal said he holds your contract. What does that mean?”

 

Charon released an annoyed growl as he faced forward and finished scrubbing his chest. “Do you always ask so many questions?”

 

“I used to, yeah.”

 

Charon turned off the water and grabbed a towel to wrap around his waist. “Well, there are things you don’t need to know.” He stepped out of the shower and turned to face her one covered. 

 

Amy took two large steps backward like she’d just realized he was naked. Or perhaps she simply couldn't ignore it anymore. 

 

He lifted his hands, palms out, while his eyes traced over her for damage.

 

None he could see, though weariness hung on hers.

 

“Have you been sleeping?”

 

“Not much.”

 

What she left unsaid still sat between them. She hadn’t slept well without Charon there. She’d been afraid he wouldn’t come back.

 

How sad was it that the only person she had to rely on was him?

 

“You won’t tell me about this contract, you wouldn’t tell me about your dreams. You don’t tell me anything.”

 

Charon set a hand on his towel to keep it on. “Why do you need to know? What does it change?”

 

“Because you’re all I have! I’m trapped here and the only people I see are you and Ahzrukhal. I just want to know something about you. I didn’t think it would be such an inconvenience for you to talk to me.” She twisted on her heel and stormed out of the bathroom, her dress skirt trailing behind her, hurt over her face.

 

He sighed before chasing after her, ignoring the way the cold ground soaked into his bare feet. He caught up with her when she’d gone into her room.

 

He wrapped a hand around her arm to pull her to a stop. “Stop, please.”

 

“Why? I’m nothing here, not even a person. You won’t even talk to me, and I'm all alone.”

 

His finger rubbed over her skin, startled by how soft it was. “I don’t like to talk about my contract. However, if you really want to know, I’ll tell you.”

 

Her gaze dropped to where he touched her as she swallowed hard, her breathing speeding.

 

Charon released her without hesitation, then took a step backward. A mostly naked ghoul grabbing her was not a good thing, not likely to help make her feel any more secure. “I’m going to go and dress. I’ll come back, and we will talk.”

 

“By talk, you mean you’ll answer my questions?”

 

“Yes, smoothskin. That is what I mean.”

 

He turned to leave after he caught the rare smile on her lips.

 

#

 

Amy shook away her nerves and the strange feeling of having Charon back.

 

The week without him had worn on her. Ahzrukhal visited with meals, but they only caused Amy anxiety. He’d ask her questions, insult her, offer tiny tokens of praise as if he expected her to eat them up.

 

And worse? She did. . . Whether it was self-preservation or a desperation for something kind, when he told her she looked nice, she’d latched onto the words.

 

When she’d walked in on Charon, she’d frozen at the sight. Completely nude, he’d looked even more intimidating than ever. Grooves in his back from the ruined skin along with new injuries weeping red had caught her attention.

 

He’d been hurt on whatever job Ahzrukhal had sent him on. Not that he’d said a word about it, not Charon. She’d found he’d come at times, moving slower, obviously nursing an injury, but he’d never complain, never draw attention.

 

Him being naked had shaken her. Thankfully, he’d kept his back to her. She’s stared for a moment, just watching, wondering. She’d gotten no rush, no warmth, no spark of arousal. A slight unease and a sickness in her stomach had been the extent of a reaction.

 

Would she ever get those old feelings back? The ones she’d had when Butch had removed the top of his vault suit the first time they’d made out when she’d thought anything was possible, when she’d wanted to see more?

 

Or were they gone forever?

 

Of course, the week hadn't passed without Ahzrukhal taking his psycho, without him taking her again. Each time because easier and so much more difficult. The fact she was growing accustomed to him, that this was turning into her new normal, it terrified her. What was she becoming if laying with Ahzrukhal had become normal life for her? She hadn't even cried afterward, had only walked to the shower to wash and then gone to sleep.

 

“Smoothskin?” The name came out softly, as it always did. He never said her name, and yet his nickname held some sense of fondness.

 

Amy brought the plate she’d made and set it on the table. “Sit, eat. I doubt you’ve had anything.”

 

His gaze narrowed on the plate of food. “What is this?”

 

“It’s nothing big, just some soup. Ahzrukhal gave me access to some basics so he wouldn’t have to keep bringing me food. I just thought, after being out there for a week you’d appreciate some real food.”

 

Charon stared at the food like he didn’t understand it as he sat in the chair she indicated.

 

“I’m not trying to poison you.” Amy sat across from her, unable to hide the hurt in her voice at his suspicion. “If you don’t want to eat it, don’t eat it. I was just trying to-“

 

“-I’m not afraid you poisoned it. People do not make me food, and it surprised me.” He didn’t look up as he took a bite, then ate faster. “This is very good.”

 

“Where were you?”

 

He spoke from between mouthfuls. “A job.” Her silence had him pausing before he continued speaking. “Ahzrukhal required a trade route be cleared. It took me time to do so.”

 

“Is that how you were hurt.”

 

His shoulders tensed. So he didn’t care to talk about his injuries? Tough guys rarely did, but she sensed it was more than that. Not ego, but rather a sense of self-preservation. “Yes. They are superficial.”

 

Amy scraped her nails over the top of the table. “Will you tell me what Ahzrukhal meant by a contract?”

 

He set his spoon down in the bowl. “It means he is my employer.”

 

His clipped words would have annoyed her at any other time, but the strain in them was obvious. This was not a conversation he wanted to have.

 

When she didn’t speak, he folded his arms on the table and met her gaze. “It means I do what he tells me to do. I have no choice in the matter. That is why no matter how much I wish I could help you, I can't.”

 

“How long does that last?”

 

“Forever. Ahzrukhal will either die, at which point my contact will go to the next person who picks it up, or he will sell it. I’ve had many employers before him, and I will have many more. Don’t look at me like that, smoothskin. I don’t need pity.”

 

The venom in his words had her pulling back. “Sorry.”

 

A sigh shuddered from him. “Don’t be sorry. I just don’t care to talk about this. It is not a happy discussion for me, and not something I like people to know.”

 

“So there’s no way to get out of the contract?”

 

“No. If anyone attempted to destroy the contact, I’d have to kill them. If someone managed to destroy it, I’d end myself. Without that, there is no me.”

 

The words came out fast, smooth, even. He’d said those words before, practiced them even.

 

“When did the contract happen?”

 

“I began training as a child. I finished, was made into a ghoul, and was placed under contract. I’m not sure what year it was, but it was shortly after the war.”

 

Shortly after the war? The great war? That would make him nearly two hundred years old. He’d been a slave his entire life? Amy’s life wasn’t exactly going like she’d have imagined, but she’d had her freedom before then.

 

Until Ahzrukhal had grabbed her, she’d had a family, friends, a future. Charon had none of those things.

 

Whoever had trained him had brainwashed him. He spoke of the contract like a holy item, like it meant more than his next breath. She was trapped by Ahzrukhal, but he was trapped by the lies in his head.

 

She opened her mouth to say something, but Charon interrupted her. “How was it while I was gone?”

 

“Fine.” She knew it came out short.

 

"Did he. . ." Charon kept his gaze down when he asked.

 

"You already know the answer to that." She tapped her fingers against the collar to change the subject. “Ahzrukhal got tired of having to deal with my basic needs.”

 

“If he was willing to deal with the trouble of a slave collar, it means he plans to keep you alive for a while. That is not a bad thing.”

 

“You try sleeping in a slave collar and then tell me that.”

 

“I did. From the age of nine until I was given my contract. Sleep on your left side, using your pillow in the space around the collar to cushion it.” Charon’s words came out flat as if he wasn’t discussing that he’d worn a slave collar through his childhood, like that didn’t matter at all.

 

Amy reached across the table and set a hand on his, squeezing softly, the most of a touch she’d dared, surprised when the action didn't send her into a panic. She said nothing, knowing Charon would brush off any sympathy or promise she made, would tell her not to worry about him. 

 

He deserved a life, though. If anyone deserved some peace, it was the ghoul across the table from her, the one who had suffered through too many years of enslavement. Each of those years, each thing he'd witnessed, they played in his eyes. 

 

No matter what happened, no matter what it cost, she was going to get him free of Ahzrukhal.


	7. Chapter 7

 Amy woke with a gasp on her lips. She’d woken to nightmares a few times, nights when the darkness crept in on her and she couldn’t breathe. She’d usually sit up and wipe the sweat from her forehead. She didn’t cry, didn’t despair. Sometimes she worried she was beyond those things, that maybe she’d already been hollowed out and changed.

 

Three more weeks had passed. Three weeks of playing the game with Ahzrukhal. He’d spent more time with her, visiting her in the mornings and before bed like they were dating. He’d bring her items, small tokens of affection. Hubflowers, pieces of jewelry, special foods.

 

And Amy would play the game. She’d smile, bat her eyelashes, and pour gratitude over Ahzrukhal. She died a little each time she did it, when she’d hang on him and kiss his cheek and tell him how much she loved the necklace he’d brought her.

 

She would see Charon most days. They spoke, though rarely was it anything important. Sometimes Amy would tell him about the vault, about her days there, the walls and the friends and the family. He’d work either on his weapons, his armor, or fixing up her room as he listened. He rarely chimed in, though he’d ask questions.

 

He’d ask about her father, about her friends.

 

She cherished those times when he asked, or when he offered tiny tidbits of his own life.

 

But right then? With her heart pounding and her chest hurting?

 

Amy rolled from her bed, not bothering to dress beyond the nightgown she wore. She left the room, taking the hallway down toward the room she’d never dared enter.

 

Ahzrukhal didn’t sleep on the same floor Amy did. She had no idea where he slept, didn’t care. She was only grateful he didn’t require her to sleep beside him. The thought of spending the night beside that monster, of closing her eyes to drifting off beside him, it had her knees threatening to give out.

 

Amy opened the door to the room and slid in, faced with Charon in his bed.

 

The idea of entering his room before had unnerved her. He was too much in such a small space.

 

His room had her feet stilling. He had almost nothing in there. A mattress on the floor like she’d had, a metal chair beside a side table. A thin, dirty grey blanket over him that couldn’t possibly keep the cold away. Nothing else.

 

He lived like this when he worked to find her so many nice things?

 

She’d learned her lesson the last time she’d tried to wake him up, so she called into his room instead. “Charon?”

 

His eyes snapped open, body still as his gaze locked on her. “Are you okay?” He set his hand on the ground and leveraged his bulk to his feet. A pair of sweatpants hung on his hips, no shirt. She wondered if the clothing bothered his radiation burns since he rarely wore more than he had to. “Are you hurt?”

 

She shook her head. “I couldn’t sleep,” she lied.

 

Charon ran a hand over his head, taking a deep breath. “Nightmares?”

 

Amy nodded. She’d found him easy to talk to, perhaps because he didn’t judge her, didn’t make her feel bad when she didn’t have it all together.

 

And boy, did she not have it all together. Not that Ahzrukhal cared. As long as she spread her thighs for him and played the sweet virgin for him, he didn’t care if she panicked. He’d just kiss her and tell her it was fine, that she’d get used to it.

 

Charon’s gaze moved around the room then, his foot shuffling against the ground. “Come along, smoothskin. Let’s get you back to your room. I will stay there with you if you want.”

 

“Can’t I stay here?”

 

“No. Let’s go.” He moved toward her to guide her out.

 

Amy didn’t move at all, staying in the doorway. It meant he’d have to physically move her, which she knew he didn’t plan on doing, or he was stuck. “Please?”

 

His lips pressed together, back straight. “My room is not acceptable for you,” he finally shoved out.

 

Amy took a step into the room. “I don’t care about that.”

 

“Your room has a better bed, has better furniture. You shouldn’t have to sleep on the floor like this.”

 

“Like you do?”

 

He jerked his gaze away. “It’s fine for me. Not for you. So, come on, let’s go. We’ll go back to your-“

 

Amy walked up to Charon, him moving away to keep distance until he backed into the wall. “I don’t want to go to my room. That’s where Ahzrukhal rapes me at. It’s where I have to pretend to like him, where I pretend I want him. I hate that room and no amount of fancy furniture will change that. Fuck, Charon, I can feel him when I’m in there. I wake up and I can still smell his breath all over me, I can feel his fingers digging into me.” She arched her neck to stare up into his face. “Please, don’t make me go. Let me stay here with you, just for tonight.”

 

Charon cast a glare down at her, holding it like he could get her to back down. When nothing changed, he released a frustrated groan. “Fine,” he snarled. “But I am going to get a real blanket from your room.” He slid past her before she could argue.

 

#

 

Charon gathered the heavy blanket from Amy’s bed.

 

She shouldn’t be in his room.

 

He wasn’t a man who worried about how he looked to most people, but her seeing the squalor he lived in didn’t sit well. He’d never had much during his life, and it hadn’t ever bothered him. He didn’t need much, had lived with a lot less than that. Somehow, Amy seeing it, seeing he had nothing to his name but his shotgun and his armor, it bothered him.

 

Still, he couldn’t kick her out, not after what she’d said.

 

Sometimes it was easy to forget what she endured. Hell, sometimes he ignored it on purpose. He would think of her as a slave, but he’d not consider what that meant.

 

Ahzrukhal raped her. He knew it and yet he ignored it. He couldn’t change it, and thinking about it made him ill. She was too delicate, too soft, too young to think about a monster like Ahzrukhal touching her.

 

The moment he thought about it, his mind shorted out. He supposed it had to do with the anger toward Ahzrukhal, with the violence he wanted to inflict, and the way the contract wouldn’t allow it.

 

He walked back into his room to find Amy laying in his bed, her back to him. Her bones seemed so fragile beneath the nightgown. They would snap beneath so little pressure. How had she not been crushed by the world yet?

 

Charon wrapped the blanket around her. “Do you want me to go?”

 

“No. Stay, please.”

 

If only he had more furniture. He could stretch out on a couch or pull a chair over.

 

Amy patted the mattress. “Sit and stop worrying.”

 

He followed the suggestion, sitting behind her, leaning against the wall.

 

She scooted until her back pressed against his thigh. “I was thinking about the vault.”

 

“What about it?” He let his eyes drift closed as he listened to her voice. It always soothed him, the soft tone. She didn’t have a rasp like he did, like most of the ghouls he knew. Her voice hadn’t even matured much, still holding that young quality.

 

“I had a boyfriend there.”

 

The words had him lifting a lip in annoyance. He could picture some little punk with his hands all over her.

 

She kept talking. “His name was Butch. He was a jerk, at least in front of people. With me, though? He was something else. We always thought we’d leave the vault and make something of ourselves.”

 

“Was? Did he die?”

 

“Not that I know of. He could have, I mean, I’ve been gone a while.” Her fingers slid against the bricks of the wall. “I always thought about going back there, seeing him again. I wonder what he’s doing.”

 

“Perhaps when you get out of here, you still can.”

 

“Maybe.” That maybe dripped doubt. “Even if I did, he’d never want me back.”

 

“I’m sure that’s not true.” And if it was, if he’d turn Amy away for this, Charon would be happy to kill the bastard himself. “If he loved you, he’d not hold this against you.”

 

“Love? He didn’t love me. We were stupid kids, nothing more.”

 

Charon let her words soak in. “You don’t read the romance books I bring, anymore. You haven’t in weeks.”

 

“I don’t think I believe in love anymore. Everything in those books is bullshit. I kept reading them and realizing, that doesn’t exist.”

 

“It could, for some people.”

 

“I waited, you know? Butch wanted to have sex, but I wanted to wait. I thought we’d have this perfect moment someday, you know, magical and amazing and all those stupid fantasies. I thought they’d be like those romance novels. Finally I realized, that doesn’t happen.”

 

Charon swallowed to settle his stomach at the thought that Amy hadn’t had sex before Ahzrukhal. What sort of first time was that? “You’re a virgin?”

 

“Was. Not anymore, right?”

 

Fuck.

 

Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, just when he thought he couldn’t hate Ahzrukhal anymore. No wonder her head was all twisted up, she’d never had sex she’d wanted, had never gotten the chance to figure out sex, to grow into her own. Sex was complicated at the best of times, and this sure wasn’t the best of times.

 

Charon rubbed his hand over her arm, the blanket providing a buffer. “Get some sleep, smoothskin.”

 

“Use my name. I want to hear it again; I want to hear you say it.”

 

He opened his eyes so he could look at her, her long hair pulled back, the light catching on her cheekbones. How someone who looked so damned fragile could not have broken, he didn’t think he’d ever understand.

 

“Get some sleep, Amy.”

 

And hell if her name on his lips didn’t make him feeling something.


	8. Chapter 8

Amy closed her eyes against Ahzrukhal’s kiss. While she could stomach the touches, even respond, she couldn’t look at him during. So when his lips sucked hard on the skin above the slave collar, she clutched her fingers around his shoulders and pretended to be anywhere else.

 

Another two weeks. She’d lost track of how long she’d been there altogether. At first, she’d kept track, but as the days passed, as the weeks passed, she couldn’t anymore. It hurt too much.

 

Ahzrukhal broke the kiss and pulled back, capturing her chin in his hand. “What are you thinking, Samantha?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

His fingers tightened in warning hard enough for her to gasp. “Don’t lie to me. I want to give you more freedom, would like to offer you more, but how can I trust you if you lie to me?”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

He eased up his grip before he pulled her in for a hard kiss. When he ended the kiss, the stood and moved away from her, wearing only his pants. “I am a forgiving man. You have been quiet at dinner, distracted when we have sex. Something is going on in your head and I expect you to tell me.”

 

Amy kept silent for a moment to smother the responses she wanted to offer.

 

Over the weeks together, he’d become stranger. Ahzrukhal ate every dinner with her, meals she cooked like a wife. He’d tell her about his day, request she rub his shoulders, and even on some nights ask her her opinion.

 

The entire charade made her sick. She’d wanted this; that was the worst part of it all. She’d grown up wanting a happy family, a husband who she ate dinner with.

 

How dare Ahzrukhal ruin that all for her. He’d soured the entire idea for her, made some mockery of what a marriage should have been.

 

She couldn’t say those things, so instead, she answered him with a partial truth. “Who did you get Charon’s contract from?”

 

“You spend your time thinking about that brute instead of me? If I were less of a man, I might feel threatened by that.” His tone said he was threatened by it.

 

Amy said nothing back.

 

Ahzrukhal poured a whiskey for himself before he continued. “Charon’s last master was a real piece of work. She was a slaver, mostly for children who she sold to older men looking for child brides. Charon would procure the children for her. So, before you feel too much pity for him, you should know that Charon well deserves the chain he wears from his contract.”

 

“She sold the contract to you?”

 

“No. I tried to buy it, of course, but she knew what she had. She refused to sell.”

 

“So you killed her?”

 

Ahzrukhal turned, leaning against the counter. “Another good guess, but no. The contract has a few measures within it for safety. Charon is compelled to protect whoever holds his contract, and that extends beyond death. Those who created him didn’t want to risk people deciding to simply kill the contract holder, so if Charon is aware that someone killed his master, he will be honor-bound to avenge that death. It meant I couldn’t risk killing her myself.”

 

Amy let all the facts piece together as she listened to the story, as she tried to imagine Charon having to do those things. Was that what his nightmares were about? About the faces of children he gave over to slavery?

 

How could a person carry guilt like that around and still stand?

 

“So what happened?”

 

Ahzrukhal came back over and sat on the bed beside her, gaze ignoring her nakedness. He did that often like her body meant little to him anymore. He still used it, still used her, but the attraction had seemed to shift. “I outsmarted her. Have you ever noticed Charon has no bruises on him from me?”

 

Amy’s fingers touched her own cheek, the place Ahzrukhal liked to backhand her when angry, when she didn’t react the way he wanted her to. Despite her best efforts, he could be difficult to predict, especially when he took chems.

 

He grinned. “Exactly. You, I punish that way to help you learn. Charon is punished by sending him on difficult missions, by taking things away. Part of his contract includes that any physical violence against him invalidates his contract with that employer. I have no idea what anyone would include that in a contract, but I suppose it was to ensure he didn’t become a garden variety slave. They didn’t want their product showing poorly by being a punching bag. So, I tricked her. I gave her enough chems to muddle her mind, and when Charon walked into her room, she confused him with an attacker. One stray bullet, and he tore her apart himself.” Ahzrukhal handed Amy the whiskey, waiting for her to take a drink before he finished. “At that point, all I had to do was take the contract from her dead body, and he was mine.”

 

She supposed that explained why she’d never seen Ahzrukhal touch Charon. Even the times when she’d seen them together, when Charon or Ahzrukhal showed up when the other was around, Ahzrukhal never laid a finger on Charon.

 

“Why do you ask about him? You seem awfully interested in my bodyguard.”

 

“I’m just curious. You two are the only people I see.”

 

His head tilted, eyes wide, the psycho giving them an odd flatness she’d grown used to. “It’s more than that. Do you like him? I can’t imagine why, not that beast. He’s hardly a person. Fucking him would be like fucking a dog.”

 

Amy shook her head. “No, of course not. I don’t want anyone else.”

 

“Ahzrukhal,” came the voice she’d been thinking about. Charon stood at the doorway of her room, his gaze avoiding Amy.

 

Ahzrukhal turned, not moving off the bed. “What?”

 

Charon gave no reaction to Amy being naked, acting as if she wasn’t even there. “The waitress for tonight ran off.”

 

Ahzrukhal let his hand drift up her thigh as he spoke. “Ran off? It was that whore we hired last week, right?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Do you think you could find her? I don’t care for having my business disrupted or my free-time interrupted.”

 

“Greta says she ran off two days ago. She could be anywhere by now, would take me days to find her, if I could. I already spoke to another girl to cover the shift.”

 

Ahzrukhal let his gaze dart between Amy and Charon. His lips curled up into a grin that made Amy shudder. He slid his hand into Amy’s hair and guided her off the bed and onto her knees in front of him.

 

At least she didn’t have to stare at Charon.

 

Ahzrukhal guided her forward, and she slid her eyes closed, even when he slid himself past her lips. He didn't force her to move much, to work. This was a point he was making rather than any sort of pleasure. 

 

“Do you think she’s pretty, Charon?”

 

Charon’s voice came out with the same flat quality he always used with Ahzrukhal. “I think whatever you want me to think.”

 

Ahzrukhal released a harsh laugh. “Who am I kidding? She may have some strange fascination with you, but I don’t think you can feel a thing.” His fingers stroked through Amy’s hair, otherwise ignoring her and speaking to Charon. “You’re not even a person anymore, are you? Go on, Charon, go do whatever it is you do while I finish up.”

 

Amy kept her eyes closed as Charon’s footsteps trailed off.

 

“Eyes on me,” he snapped as he pulled her off him. “Let me make this clear, Samantha. If I catch you ever screwing around behind my back, I’ll kill whoever it is and then I’ll kill you. I’ve come to like you, but I won’t tolerate betrayal. You are replaceable. Do you understand me?”

 

She nodded, storing the information away like she did everything else. All pieces, all bits she would form together to end the bastard. It might take her months more, but now she had an idea.

 

#

 

Charon held the books in his hands as he walked into Amy’s room. He hadn’t seen her since Ahzrukhal’s little demonstration.

 

And that’s been what it was. He was humiliating them both, proving to them both that he was in charge.

 

Amy worked at the table, a dress spread out, a needle and thread in her hands. Had Ahzrukhal torn the garment?

 

“I brought you another few books. A trader in from Rivet City had them.” He placed them on the bookshelf, noting again she’d read none of the romance books still there.

 

Her words echoed in his head. She didn’t believe in love. It was hard to think someone could survive if they lost their faith, even faith in something as easy as love.

 

Amy didn’t respond, fingers moving as she stitched where the seam had come undone. Yes, that looked like a tear from someone yanking at the gown.

 

“Are you ignoring me?” Charon’s eyebrows drew together before he came closer, crouching beside her.

 

A bruise covered her left eye, a broken blood vessel in the eye turning it red.

 

“Smoothskin,” he whispered softly. “What happened?”

 

“It doesn’t matter. I have a question for you.”

 

“Anything.”

 

Her hands never stopped as she worked on the dress. “Do you want your freedom?”

 

He sighed. “That isn’t realistic. There is no freedom for me to have. Even if Ahzrukhal is no longer my employer, I will have another.”

 

“That wasn’t the question I asked you. If we could get you free of Ahzrukhal, would you want that? Even if there was a risk?”

 

Charon stood and backed away. “Do not discuss this with me. It’s not safe. If you did anything to him I would be forced to protect him, forced to hurt you. I am not a safe person to plan anything with.”

 

“I’m not planning, I’m asking. If there was a way to free you from him, would you want to? This is important, Charon, and I need to know. Even if it was risky, even if you could get hurt or killed, would you want that?”

 

He rubbed his thumbs against his eyes. “You should worry about your own future, about your own safety. I accepted my place a long time again, accepted my life. I do not need you trying to help me.”

 

And he didn't need her risking herself for him. She deserved more than that. 

 

She lifted her gaze, nailing him with a hard look made harder with the blood covering the white of her eye. “Answer me.”

 

“Yes, smoothskin. I’d risk anything to be free of this.”

 

“Good.” She dropped her gaze back to the dress.

 

“Are we going to talk-“

 

“We are not. I never want to talk about what happened, I can’t. We will pretend it didn’t happen, that you didn’t see that.”

 

He wanted to explain to her that he understood, that people did what they had to do. How many terrible things had he done over his life? If he could make her understand, maybe he'd believe he wasn't at fault, either. “Listen-“

 

“-No. I’ve asked you for little, but I’m asking for this. Let me hold what little dignity I have left, or at least let me pretend I have some at all.” She moved the needle too fast and poked it into her finger. Blood beaded at the top of her finger, dropping onto the fabric of the dress she worked on.

 

“You hurt yourself.”

 

She stared at the finger like she couldn’t feel it. Could she? Had Ahzrukhal ruined her so that she felt nothing?

 

Charon could understand that. He went to the med-kit on the shelf and retrieved a band-aid.

 

Amy didn’t pull away when he took her hand in a gentle grasp to clean the finger, then bandage the small wound.

 

“I’m going to fix this all, Charon. Somehow, I’ll fix it.”

 

“Worry about yourself. I’m not worth the concern.”

 

She reached out when he finished with her finger and set her palm against his cheek, the first real touch he’d felt in so long.

 

Without thinking about it, he leaned into the touch, nuzzling against her palm, eyes sliding closed against the warmth, the human contact.

 

“I’m going to fix it.”

 

The confidence in that voice, the touch of her fingers, the future she promised? 

 

He let himself believe it was possible just for a moment.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Amy stopped any attempt at counting. None of it mattered. Trying to save herself became a step too far, a thing she couldn’t imagine anymore.

 

What was there left to save? She’d wake up soaked in sweat some nights, a nightmare too close.

 

She didn’t dream about what Ahzrukhal did to her. That stopped mattering. That had turned into just body parts, into pressure, into something little different from exercise or maintenance. Hell, it didn't even feel like her body. It was a thing Ahzrukhal played with, nothing else. 

 

She just didn’t care about it.

 

Instead, she dreamed that she was standing there, and she would just dissolve. Piece by piece, she’d crumple in on herself like the old stories about black holes, where it sucked everything else in. She’d dream about her body collapsing in on itself until nothing was left. Ahzrukhal would laugh as it happened, as he watched her turn into nothing.

 

But that’s what he’d done to her. He’d picked away at her until just an empty shell remained.

 

She would stop having that dream soon as well, she was sure. He would push her far enough that that stopped mattering either.

 

It meant she didn’t expect to survive this, not any of it. She didn’t even know if she wanted to survive it. Instead, she focused on Charon.

 

Her plan took time. She had to gain more of Ahzrukhal’s trust, a difficult task. The psycho he took made him paranoid and quick to anger.

 

The bruises she wore showed her success in planting doubt. She’d asked about Charon, never enough to send him into a rage but enough for him to worry. That’s all she needed, to made him think about it, to let it fester. A question here, Charon’s name moaned softly during sex, so many little things that had Ahzrukhal on edge.

 

Charon knew nothing about the plan. He couldn’t. Her plan would end with Ahzrukhal’s death if it worked, and so Charon would be forced to try and stop it.

 

So Amy planned in secret, suffered without company. Charon came to visit, but Amy could tell him nothing, so their talks had stalled out.

 

That was the worst part, though, the hurt on his face.

 

‘I’m afraid you’re giving up,’ he’d admitted one night from his place in the chair of her room.

 

No, not giving up, just being realistic. There was nothing left of Amy to save, but Charon deserved a life.

 

And finally, after all this time, her chance.

 

Ahzrukhal would come at four AM. She’d made sure of it. He wasn’t a man used to offering concessions, but Amy’s birthday had made for the perfect trap.

 

‘I want to surprise you for my birthday,’ she’d whispered into his ear a week before when he'd run his fingers through her hair after sex. ‘Come at four am, after the bar closes. Take the chems, please?’

 

So easy to manipulate him, to play his ego. Charon had been right about his weakness. Ahzrukhal lived and died by his ego, by his reputation. The idea that she wanted him, that her present would be his dick, that would pull him in.  

 

Charon sat in that same chair, a book in his lap. He hadn’t read much at first, but he’d grown to do so when Amy worked on her sewing. She’d stopped reading altogether.

 

The stories were bullshit, always having happy endings. Happy endings didn’t exist.

 

The clock beside her bed ticked away the seconds. 3:45.

 

Ahzrukhal was never early, and Amy had to time everything with care.

 

Charon would turn her down if she gave him time to think. She needed to do this with enough time to work but not too much time. 

 

3:50. As good as it was going to get.

 

Amy stood and walked toward Charon.

 

He let the book drop to his lap, his gaze on her in an instant. He did that, looked at her so fast it seemed his attention never really left her. Even when reading, when working on other things, he always had some of his attention on her. “Yes?”

 

Amy slid into his lap, the action stunning him into silence.

 

She didn’t react to him with fear anymore. Somehow, Ahzrukhal had burned away her fear and panic. Sex was sex and she’d experienced the worst of it. What was there to panic about anymore?

 

“What are you doing?” He leaned back as far as he could.

 

“Do you want me to stop?” She set her hands on his chest over his shirt.

 

“You should, yes. If Ahzrukhal caught you like this-“

 

“-it’s my birthday.” Dirty trick to play, but she would do whatever it took to finish this.

 

“What?” His eyebrows drew together, his hands on the armrests of the chair in a tight grip. His face said he couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t keep up.

 

“My birthday. I’m nineteen today, my first birthday outside of the vault.”

 

“Happy Birthday, smoothskin. Now, get out of my lap.”

 

“I want a kiss.”

 

He sucked in a hard breath, the chair creaking as his hands cranked down. “That isn’t a good idea.”

 

Amy leaned in, hands sliding over his shoulders. “I want my first kiss of nineteen to be with someone I care about. Please, don’t make it be with him.”

 

A soft groan, but no argument.

 

It was the best Amy would get. She brushed her lips against his, her tongue teasing what was left of his bottom lip.

 

She shifted her hips until she settled against him more. His cock, hard and pressing against her, almost shook her confidence.

 

And wasn’t that something? That she could still be nervous, that she could still have a spark of fear? Sure, so being afraid of Charon was foolish, but she couldn't help some strange pleasure in the fact she could still feel something.

 

Amy pushed it aside and ground down against his erection.

 

His control snapped.

 

Charon reached up and grasped the back of her neck, pulling her against him, taking over the kiss. Her head spun, anxiety spiking.

 

There was too much of him. His arms wrapped around her, his hands gripping her, her hard body pressed against her, his mouth on hers. He was everywhere and she couldn’t breathe. He was too strong and too large and too male. 

 

The moment before she fell headlong into fear, before Charon could notice, someone grasped the back of her dress and tore her away.

 

Amy’s knees hit the hard floor, hands scraping along it.

 

Ahzrukhal stood there, panting, his eyes wide and furious.

 

Charon was on his feet as quickly, gaze darting, mind working.

 

“I warned you!” Ahzrukhal’s chest pumped, his hands grasping and releasing nothing. The psycho swam through him, visible in his eyes, in the twitching of his muscles. “I warned you not to betray me, Samantha!”

 

Charon spoke, voice calm. “It wasn’t her, Ahzrukhal. It was me. I grabbed her. This was not her fault.”

 

Amy grasped the table to haul herself to her feet. “Like you don’t know it’s him I’ve always wanted!”

 

“Quiet, Amy,” Charon hissed out. “Punish me. Send me wherever you want, take anything, just leave her be.”

 

Ahzrukhal slid his hand around Amy’s throat and pinned her to the table by the grip. “I told you what would happen if you went behind my back, didn’t I? Did you think I was kidding? You are nothing I can’t find fifty other whores in the wasteland to be.”

 

Charon paced behind him like an animal behind a fence. He could do nothing, and the rage, the frustration showed in his heavy steps.

 

Amy dug her nails into Ahzrukhal’s arm as she shoved words out. “I’ve been fucking him from the start. You’ve never even gotten me off, but he does. How do you like sloppy seconds?”

 

The psycho gave Ahzrukhal more strength, and he use it when he threw Amy across the room by the grip on her throat. Her head struck the ground, her vision flashing in and out for a moment as she tried to catch her breath.

 

“You are a liar! I’m in control here. You are both mine to do what I want with.”

 

“Because you’re a coward! Everyone is laughing at you Ahzrukhal, laughing at the ghoul no woman wants, laughing at the ghoul hiding behind a real man.” Blood leaked from her lips, drooling down onto her hand.

 

A little further. She only needed to push him a little further.

 

She laughed despite the way her chest hurt. Had she broken a rib? Everything hurt so she couldn’t be sure. Amy lifted her gaze to his. “You’re nothing but an impotent old fool who can’t even get it up without chems.”

 

There.

 

He snapped. She could see it behind his eyes, the moment when his brain gave way to the pyscho, when he let the chems coursing through him make the decisions for him.

 

Ahzrukhal pulled the knife from his waist and attacked Charon.

 

#

 

Charon didn’t respond right away, pulling back when the knife sliced his chest on a wide swipe. He spoke, but over Ahzrukhal’s yell, no one could hear it. “Stop this! Violence will invalidate the contract.” The words came out like instinct, a warning he couldn’t not give.

 

A second pain, this time in his arm, and he shuddered as if physical chains had slipped from him.

 

Not Ahzrukhal’s, not anymore.

 

He knocked the blade from Ahzrukhal’s fail hand before he grasped him by the throat and took him to the ground. Charon grasped the front of his throat and lifted him, then slammed his head against the concrete.

 

He did it over and over again, even after Ahzrukhal stopped moving. Every evil thing he’d done at this man’s orders ran through his head. Red soaked the ground and Ahzrukhal’s skull shattered in blow after blow.

 

Movement to Charon’s left had him snarling.

 

He didn’t like feeling unbound. He felt adrift, ungrounded. His chest ached like it did the few times he lacked a master, when his contract was held by no one, like he wasn't real.

 

He trembled, hands sticky and covered in blood, breathing fast and uneven.

 

Amy.

 

Her hands shifted through Ahzrukhal’s jacket, searching. She moved slowly, a trail of blood down her chin, eyes unfocused. A mark on her head said she’d struck the floor.

 

She pulled his contract from Ahzrukhal’s jacket, clutching it to her chest like something precious.

 

He could breathe again. He had a master, he had a purpose.  

 

Charon shook away the chaos in his head to focus on her. “Smoothskin? You’re hurt.” He scrambled for the medkit, large body uncoordinated. She needed a stimpack.

 

She laid on the ground, on her back, eyes closed, knuckles white around the contract as she tucked it into a small pocket in her gown. “Get us out of here.” The words were raspy and slurred, and she passed out before she’d quite finished the last word.

 

Charon injected the stimpack in her before he gathered her limp body to his chest. He drug his hand through her hair. She didn't move, didn't wake. Would she be okay? Where was he going to take her? 

 

All he knew was he needed to get her somewhere safe.


	10. Chapter 10

Amy woke to someone singing softly and fingers brushing through her hair. She knew the voice, though she couldn’t place it.

 

She shifted, and the singing stopped.

 

“Are you awake now, sweetheart?”

 

Amy forced her eyes to open. Her head rested on someone’s lap.

 

Nova.

 

Amy’s confusion must have shown on her face because Nora laughed and stroked her fingers through Amy’s hair again.

 

“Relax. I’m not here in that sort of capacity.”

 

“Where’s Charon?” The words stumbled from Amy’s throat, dry from disuse.

 

“He’s down in the bar with Gob. Figured you’d feel better if you woke up without his seven-foot-tall self lumbering over you.”

 

Amy relaxed when she knew Charon was safe.

 

The contract.

 

She sat up too fast, head spinning, hands searching for that piece of paper.

 

“Easy, sweetheart. The contract is fine. Check your thigh.”

 

Amy tore the blanket off of her, ignoring the fact she wore nothing, to find a small pouch belted around her upper thigh. Inside the pouch, the contract sat, folded and safe.

 

“It’s an old trick for keeping important things close by.”

 

Amy tucked the contract back inside, then patted her hand on the pouch. “Thank you, Nova.”

 

Nova slid from the bed and went to the dresser. “I was worried about you, you know. First, you head out and don’t come back, then you get drug in here by that hulking bodyguard, all bruised to hell.” She came back over and pulled the shirt over Amy’s head without asking. “What happened?”

 

“Charon didn’t tell you?”

 

Nova brought a pair of jeans over and knelt down be Amy’s feet. She worked her feet into the pant legs. “No. In case you haven’t noticed, he isn’t much of a talker. He said it was your story to tell.” Nova helped Amy to her feet before sliding the jeans up and fastening them.

 

Funny to think of the woman as motherly, but she was. She helped Amy over to a chair, then brought a pair of socks. She knelt down by Amy’s feet, sliding the socks on.

 

“You’re going to be sore for a few days.”

 

“Don’t you have clients? I can’t imagine Moriarty would be happy about me taking your bed, or you spending your time taking care of me.”

 

“Oh, honey, don’t worry about that. How’re you feeling?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Nova nodded as she slid the other sock on. “I can understand that. Your friend didn’t share any details, but I saw the bruises, the marks from a slave collar. I would have considered shooting him if he didn’t carry you so gently, if he didn’t watch you so carefully. Put my mind at ease, sweetheart. Tell me he didn’t hurt you.”

 

“He didn’t.” She opened her mouth to say who had until Ahzrukhal’s face flashed in front of her. His smirk, his smell, his raspy voice, it all came back.

 

Nova made a soft shushing sound as she pulled Amy into a hug. “Hey, now. It’s okay. Breathe nice and slow. It’s over, honey, it’s over. You’re safe here.”

 

Amy rested against Nova, her arms wrapping around the other woman.

 

It didn’t feel over.

 

#

 

Charon took a drink of the beer as he watched the patrons. Megaton wasn’t the sort of place to house too many unsavory characters, not compared to the Underworld. Still, with Amy hurt upstairs, Charon found himself on higher alert.

 

Gob manned the bar, wiping at the top with a rag.

 

It was nice to see the ghoul again. He’d been happy to hear about Ahzrukhal’s passing. Gob had always been sweet, too sweet for the world.

 

“Moriarty hasn’t come in,” Gob said.

 

“I noticed.”

 

Gob didn’t look up, never looked directly at Charon. He kept his distance, but Charon couldn’t blame him for that. Gob remembered him from The Underworld, for the things he’d done for Ahzrukhal. “He isn’t coming back, is he?”

 

No, he wasn’t. Moriarty had complained about Amy’s presence, threatening Charon that he’d force Amy to work the cost off on her back, just like Nova.

 

As it turned out, Charon hadn’t quite regained his temper. Between Moriarty selling Nova and mistreating Gob, then the threat against Amy, and Charon had made sure no one would ever see the old bastard again. It would leave the bar to Gob, and he deserved it.

 

He’d let Nova know, that woman tough enough to handle the truth. Damn, he liked Nova. She’d stared Charon down when he’d walked in with Amy, a spark of anger in the woman’s eyes. She was shorter than him, smaller, younger, but hell if she didn’t stand toe to toe with Charon like it was nothing.

 

Gob wouldn’t be able to stomach the truth, so Charon had no plans to let him in on it.

 

“Maybe. Who knows,” Charon said.

 

“Have you gone to check on her?”

 

Charon shook his head. “She doesn’t need to see me around.”

 

He could only imagine how she’d react to waking up after Ahzrukhal to find Charon over her bed. That wouldn’t relax even the toughest of people, and someone with Amy’s background?

 

Hell, every time he closed his eyes, he pictured Ahzrukhal touching her, hurting her. How had Amy survived it? Would she survive it?

 

With how cold she’d grown, he wasn’t sure she wanted to live anymore.

 

Worse? He kept thinking about her in his lap. He understood now that it was part of her plan but had he really kissed her? Had he grabbed her, held her against him, ground his cock into her? What had he been thinking?

 

Until she’d done that he’d managed to not think about Amy in that way. Now? Now he couldn’t seem to stop it. What sort of monster was he that he’d think about her like that?

 

Nah. She’d do better with Nova. If it wasn’t for his contract, he’d leave her be.

 

Gob’s gaze shifted to behind Charon. “Speaking of. . . “

 

Charon twisted to peer behind him.

 

Amy walked down the stairs, Nova to her side.

 

She took the steps slowly, and Charon had to keep himself still. He wanted to go to her, to help her down the steps himself. He wanted to set his hands on her cheeks and press his forehead to hers and just breathe her in, to reassure himself she was alive and free.

 

Instead, he stayed put, even when she met his gaze.

 

She didn’t smile.

 

Fuck.

 

Charon dropped his gaze until she reached him. She wore socks but no shoes.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hey, smoothskin. Good to see you on your feet.”

 

“Can we talk?”

 

“Sure.” He stood, then took a step backward so he didn’t tower over her. Don’t crowd her. Give her space. “Where?”

 

“I thought we’d take a walk. I think I could use some fresh air.”

 

“Alone?”

 

“I don’t think I really want an audience.”

 

Sure. What was the worst that could happen?

 

#

 

Amy took a deep breath of open air. She’d forgotten how it felt to breathe in air that wasn’t stale. Even filthy as this was, it had been so long since she’d felt the sun on her.

 

She grasped the railing and tilted her head up toward the sun, letting the heat soak into her skin.

 

“How are you?”

 

“Tired.”

 

Metal scraped along the walkway as he drug a chair over. “Sit. You aren't even wearing shoes.”

 

Amy sat in the offered chair, lowering herself slowly, wincing as she did. Everything ached. “Can you believe that we’re here?”

 

Charon pulled another chair over. “No. I never thought you’d hold my contract.”

 

She frowned, still not looking at him, still not meeting his gaze. “You know I’d free you if I could, right? I don’t want to have you as a slave.”

 

“If you sold my contract, you could gain a good number of caps. A few thousand, at least. It would give you a good base.”

 

Sell his contract? The only thing worse to think of than her owning him was someone else possibly misusing him. No amount of caps would cause her to risk that. “I wouldn’t do that, Charon. What if you ended up with someone else like-“ she stumbled on the name.

 

“I would serve you. I’d protect you even without the contract, but with it? If you wanted to keep me, I’d protect you, I’d take care of you.” His words were low and soft as if he wanted to convince her. “I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want me around, however. After what happened, perhaps a ghoul such as myself being around you is not the best choice.”

 

“I’m not afraid of you.”

 

He twisted his neck to lift an eyebrow, calling her a liar.

 

She smiled at the disbelief in his look. “You’ve never given me a reason to be afraid of you.”

 

He turned to look out over the city again, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees. “I did. I should have never kissed you like that, never have,” he hesitated, releasing a soft sigh. “Never reacted like that. I'm sorry, smoothskin. I should have been more careful with you.”

 

Her cheeks burned at the memory. It was still too soon to think about it well. She didn’t remember it and want to try again, didn’t picture how he’d felt. None of it excited her. With the distance, without him touching her, she didn’t panic.

 

“If you want to keep me around, I promise to show better control. I don’t want you to worry about me ever touching you like that again, ever pushing myself on you.” His words kept going, stringing along, repeating himself.

 

Amy set a hand on his arm, a tentative and light touch that stopped his spiral. “I trust you, Charon.”

 

He nodded, a shuddering breath leaving him before he reached his other hand over to squeeze hers softly. “Good.”

 

They fell to silence as they sat side by side, two people who had shared a similar hell, who had survived it, who had no idea where to go from there.

 

Amy wasn’t sure what they were going to do, what she wanted, how she was going to do any of it. She still wasn’t sure she wanted to do any of it. None of it made any sense.

 

The only thing that made sense right then was the ghoul who sat beside her, and she supposed that was enough. 


	11. Chapter 11

Amy tipped her glass backward to gulp down the liquid, letting it burn her throat.

 

Whiskey. Why did it have to be whiskey? It was just her luck that when she said she didn’t care, Gob would give her whiskey.

 

It reminded her of Ahzrukhal, of the taste of his kiss. She drank more to wash away the memory.

 

“Perhaps you should slow down?”

 

Of course, Charon was there. He was never more than a few feet away, always watching, always seeing. Always seeing too much, really. She’d woken with a gasp, Nova right there. Instead of talking, like Nova had wanted, she shoved away and stumbled down the stairs. Drinking was easier than talking or thinking.

 

Talking or thinking made it all real. Drinking would make it all go away, at least for a while.

 

Not a surprise that he’d know. He always knew. Somehow, he knew when she woke up, when she left the room, when she wandered. He was a shadow, always right behind her. They'd taken a house in town, the Sheriff offering it without hesitation. 

 

Amy downed the rest of the glass. “Why? So I can have a clear head? I don’t want a clear head.”

 

He set his hand on the top of her glass to keep it on the bar. “Liquor won’t fix this.”

 

“Liquor makes it so I can’t remember, and that’s good enough for tonight.”

 

“Nightmares?”

 

“Doesn’t matter.”

 

“It does to me.”

 

Amy pulled her hand away. “Just leave me alone.”

 

He sighed but nodded, retreating back to his corner.

 

Amy should feel bad for snapping at him. Charon had done nothing but try to help. He was always there, always offering anything she needed.

 

The problem?

 

She didn’t know what she needed.

 

So instead, she pushed her glass toward Gob. “Another.”

 

#

 

Charon kept his eyes pinned on Amy, who sat across from Jericho at a small table in the corner of the bar.

 

They spoke, but the words didn’t matter. Amy laughed and burped and slurred whatever she tried to say. Jericho watched her with the same predatory gaze Ahzrukhal had. He grinned, gaze leering, body too close.

 

Amy didn’t flirt. She never flirted, and the girl could if she wanted to.

 

Charon had discovered she was useless with a gun, with hand-to-hand, but she sure could turn on the charm when she needed to. Amy could talk a whore into bed and a merc out of caps if she put her mind to it.

 

It explained how she’d survived thus far. Not by a gun but with a smile.

 

Give the girl an inch and she could convince you to give her the whole damned wasteland.

 

It was her charm Jericho was taken in by, if the way he palmed his groin beneath the table said a thing.

 

Amy needed to break. She held so tight to her control, to her pain, it only festered.

 

In the weeks since they’d gotten to Megaton, she’d not made any progress at all. He’d hear her wake with a gasp, even with the starts of a scream on her lips. He’d wait, expecting tears, pain, something.

 

Nothing.

 

The bed would creak and she’d lie back down.

 

Only those things weren’t gone. He saw them in the cracks of her psyche. They carved the stress lines in her face, made her eyes dark with lack of sleep, her body tired. She couldn’t keep going like this.

 

It would kill her if she didn’t figure out how to move forward.

 

They were trapped, stuck somewhere between slavery and freedom, between yesterday and tomorrow. She didn’t talk about what she wanted to do from there, about what would come next. She just slid through the days, one after another, like a corpse that hadn’t figured out it was dead, yet.

 

Amy stood, and Jericho swooped in, his arm around her waist to keep her upright. “Easy, honey,” he said against her.

 

Charon stopped them at the door. “Are you going home, smoothskin?”

 

Amy looked back at him, eyes unfocused. “Don’t know the way back,” she mumbled.

 

“She’s fine,” Jericho said, pulling her tighter against his side. “Go on, honey, tell him you’re fine.”

 

“s’fine,” she slurred before Jericho lead them both out of the door.

 

Fuck.

 

Charon followed them afterward, staying far enough back neither would see him. He told himself he was just watching out for her. She clearly wasn’t thinking straight, and he wouldn’t trust a raider like Jericho with his trash let alone with Amy.

 

They didn’t head toward the house Charon and Amy stayed in, nor did they go toward Jericho’s. Instead, Jericho led her down the stairs and behind one of the buildings.

 

Charon fought back the growl on his lips. If Amy wanted the raider, he’d just make sure she didn’t get hurt.

 

Did the idea of that filthy raider with his hands on Amy sent Charon into the sort of aggression that didn’t bode well for whoever had pissed him off? Sure.

 

Amy deserved a lot better, but she was her own person. He wouldn’t force her into anything, and that including forcing her away from things, even if he was pretty damned sure they were bad for her.

 

So he watched as Jericho laid Amy down on the dirty walkway behind the building. Jericho’s hands disappeared beneath Amy’s baggy shirt, but she didn’t moan. She didn’t arch into the touch, her eyes squeezed shut.

 

“Been watching you since the first time you walked into that bar,” Jericho said. “Been wanting to get inside you. Then you showed up with that fucking bodyguard of yours and I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance. A little bit of liquor, though, and you just spread those thighs for anyone, don’t you?”

 

Charon loosened his grip on the railing when the metal groaned.

 

Jericho didn’t wait to answer before he pulled at the button that kept her pants on. He yanked hard enough the button snapped off and she winced.

 

Amy lifted her hands to cover her face, shoulders shaking.

 

“Don’t worry, now. Won’t be so bad; I’ll be quick.”

 

And that was enough. That overrode anything Amy had told him to do. She wasn’t safe, and it was his job to keep her safe.

 

He moved forward as Jericho worked his own pants. Charon grasped the back of Jericho’s jacket and hauled him off Amy, tossing him hard enough the raider struck the building.

 

“The fuck-“ Jericho went for his rifle.

 

Charon already had his leveled at him. “Give me a reason. One killer to another, look at my face, and know I have no problem killing you. Just give me one tiny reason, anything, and I’ll end you here. No one will miss you.”

 

Jericho stared back, as if he could stare Charon down, before he huffed an aggravated sigh. “Fine. Better pussy in town anyway.” Jericho hauled himself to his feet before he stormed off.

 

Amy had rolled to her side, face still covered.

 

Charon leaned down and lifted Amy easily against his chest. She was light, fitting into his arms so easily.

 

He whispered to her, “It’s just me, Smoothskin.”

 

Neither spoke until he got her back to their place, when he set her down on her bed. She hadn’t looked at him, hadn’t moved her hands.

 

Charon knelt in front of her, hoping the position might relax her. She still cringed around him, still pulled away. Hell, she probably always would. Couldn’t blame her for that, really. He wasn’t only male, and a ghoul, and a reminder of her horror, but with his size, he was damned near a monster.

 

“Look at me?”

 

She didn’t. “Why did you stop him?”

 

“The better question is why didn’t you? It was quite clear you didn’t want to have sex with him, so why?”

 

“Because it doesn’t matter. None of it matters.”

 

“Even if you wanted to have sex, and I know you didn’t want to with him, a man like that could have hurt you, even killed you.”

 

“So? Maybe that’s what I wanted.”

 

“You should talk to someone. This is going to kill you, going to destroy you if you keep holding it in. You have Nova to talk to, Gob. You even have me. You could talk to me, you know.”

 

Amy pulled her hands away finally and cast him a look that would have a lesser man withering. “Stop trying to fix me. Look at me for one fucking second, Charon, I’m broken. Ahzrukhal broke me, entirely, and there’s nothing left, not a fucking thing.”

 

Charon took her face between his hands, hard enough she couldn’t yank back right away. “You beat him. He couldn’t break you because you won. You’ll get through this, and I’ll help.”

 

“You don’t get it. I never left that fucking place, I’m never going to leave it! I’m stuck there and I don’t know how to get out.” She cracked as the words escaped, that flat mask she’d worn shattered.

 

Her hands gripped his shirt as she slid off the bed, to the floor, all but crawling into his lap. She didn’t kiss him, didn’t do anything but clutch him, face against his chest as she sobbed.

 

Charon wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. He rested his forehead against the top of her head, breathing her in, whispering to her. The words didn’t matter, hell, he didn’t think she heard them. The tone of his voice, though, the rumble of his chest seemed to calm her.

 

He rubbed his hand over her back, the trip a short one since his hand dwarfed her.

 

She cried until the well ran dried, her face plastered against his chest, her tears soaked into his shirt. Was this better? It had to be, right? Anything had to be better than the walking dead she’d been doing before.

 

It reminded him of a broken bone he’d once had. He’d kept trying to walk on it, and it had eventually healed wrong because he’d never set it. Weeks later, another doctor had taken a look and had to rebreak the bone.

 

Rebreaking it hurt like a bitch, but fuck if it didn’t heal right after that.

 

Maybe this was Amy rebreaking that bone. It was her opening that wound and scraping out the infection pus. Now it could heal the right way.

 

Maybe.

 

When she fell asleep, or just ran out of energy, Charon settled her into the bed.

 

She grasped his wrist as he pulled away.

 

So, not asleep.

 

“What do you need?”

 

She tugged at his wrist until he got into the bed.

 

“Not a good idea,” he reasoned even as he followed her request.

 

“I need you.”

 

He stroked her cheek before nodding and getting into the bed. He took the side by the wall, ignoring the flash of fear when he rolled over her. She’d do better if she had a clear shot to the door instead of being trapped between him and a wall.

 

The distance he left disappeared throughout the night as she scooted toward him, until his back was against the wall and she was curled against his chest.

 

This was. .  .nice

 

#

 

Amy woke to someone’s arm wrapped around her. It had her frowning. She couldn’t fall asleep with Butch, because her father would kill him if he found out.

 

Still, the warm of the body made her willing to ignore it.

 

At least until a soft rumble had her opening her eyes to find a ghoul in bed with her.

 

Not just any ghoul, but Charon.

 

His eyes remained closed, his hand clutched around her back.

 

To her surprise, it didn’t make her want to go running. Maybe it was because he was asleep, because of his contract, because he couldn’t hurt her even if he wanted to.

 

And wasn’t that fucked up?

 

After Amy’s experience, that she’d find pleasure in the servitude of another, in their lack of freedom. Fair or not, right or not, his contract let her ease into the touch, to try and enjoy it for what it was.

 

Real contact. Such a simple thing, yet something she’d missed.

 

Before leaving the vault, she and Butch had spent plenty of time together. Beyond that, while her father wasn’t a touchy-feely sort of guy, she had friends. They’d all lounge together since a vault lacked for space. She was used to touching others, to being touched by them.

 

Since leaving the vault, that had disappeared. She hadn’t had anyone she trusted enough for even hugs, for the smallest amount of human contact. And then Ahzrukhal had torn apart even her desire for such contact. He’d poisoned it.

 

So, with Charon asleep, his fingers gripping her like instinct, his contract in her pocket, she snuggled closer to his warmth and allowed herself the rare moment of pleasure. As she relaxed, he seemed to relax more.

 

His hand loosened as if he’d realized she wasn’t trying to get away. His face rubbed against the top of her head in a nuzzle.

 

It was oddly sweet from the large ghoul, but hadn’t he always been sweet? At least with her?

 

She rested with him for a while, until he stirred what had to be an hour later. His hands tightened first, though the moment he woke he pulled his arm back.

 

She missed it.

 

His lips pressed against her head in a soft kiss before he slid from the bed.

 

#

 

Charon prepared breakfast as he waited for Amy to wake. Coming to with her snuggled against him had been both the best and most frightening moment he could recall.

 

She fit against his chest, beneath his arm, like the space had been made for her. How easy it was to fall into that feeling, into this idea that they were something more.

 

But, Ahzrukhal had played that game with her, hadn’t he? Charon wasn’t any better an option.

 

He was a slave, a killer whose only skills including hurting others. That was the last thing Amy needed.

 

He would serve as good protection but this? Sleeping in the same bed, cuddled up together, that was a different matter.

 

His gaze lifted to the sound of footsteps.

 

Amy stood in the doorway of the kitchen, a sweater around her, barefoot again. Her face was more open than he’d seen it since arriving in Megaton.

 

Perhaps the pain of the night before had shaken her loose of the spiral she’d been on.

 

“Morning,” she said.

 

“Morning,” he offered back as he set two plates of food on the table. “Did you sleep better?”

 

She nodded as she sat. “I did. Thank you for staying with me. It. . . “ she hesitated, pushing the food on her plate around. “It helped.”

 

“I’m glad.”

 

They fell to silence as they ate, and the more Amy moved, the more she finished her breakfast and avoided looking at him, the more sure he was.

 

She needed more than he could give her. She deserved more. He owed it to her to let her have more. 

 

“We should go somewhere, Smoothskin.”

 

“Where?”

 

He waited for her look up at him before he spoke. “We should go back to your vault. You said you missed it.”

 

A moment of hurt flashed across her face, but she covered it as soon as it showed, then dropped her gaze to her plate. “Sure. Whatever you want.”


	12. Chapter 12

 Amy froze at the door, the imposing metal vault door that had changed her life. It had trapped her at first, through the years she’d lived inside, the enemy that kept her from the life she’d imagined. She’d walked through it so sure she could handle anything she’d found outside it.

 

And what had she found? She’d lost any of that confidence her father had instilled in her. He’d spent his life telling her she could do anything, that she was strong, that she only had to do what was right and she’d prevail.

 

Instead of that, she’d found herself constantly in over her head until she’d been caught by Ahzrukhal. He’d taught her, along with the rest of the wasteland, that doing what was right didn’t matter. Strength was all that mattered, and she lacked that.

 

“What if they don’t want me?” She whispered it knowing Charon was behind her.

 

He was always behind her, always there. She didn’t need to turn, to look. She knew.

 

“Then it is their loss, and we will go elsewhere.” He set a hand on her shoulder. “You are not alone. If this place does not make you happy, we’ll leave.”

 

Amy set her hand on his and squeezed. Right. His reminder helped her relax. She wasn’t walking in alone.

 

She went to the terminal and leaned down. Locked.

 

It didn’t surprise her, the Overseer hadn’t been thrilled with her leaving. He wasn’t about to let her just stroll back in. She tried a few passwords, frowning as each one was wrong.

 

She’d grown up around these people; she could figure this out. The Overseer wasn’t that complex a man, not really.

 

It had her stilling. Could it be so easy?

 

Amy typed in Amata’s name, the Overseer’s daughter, her old friend. A chime, then the hissing of the vault mechanics said she’d gotten it right.

 

For all his faults, and the Overseer had plenty of them, he did love his daughter. Always had.

 

Charon touched Amy’s back, and somehow she managed not to jump. His touch had become familiar enough it didn’t startle her as it had. “You need to keep your armor tighter.” He pulled at the straps.

 

“I don’t like it tight.”

 

“Perhaps not, but you’ll like a bullet wound even less.”

 

“We’re going into a vault, not into battle. I don’t need to worry about armor.”

 

“Clearly you haven’t been in many vaults, then.” He leaned down to do the same to the armor on her thighs, hands clinical, not groping. It was one reason she could relax around him, because even when he did touch her, it was purposeful, it had a reason. He didn’t deceive her or try to play her. “You left because your life was at risk, smoothskin. You cannot walk in there expected anyone to welcome you with open arms.”

 

“Then why did you want me to come back?”

 

“Because you haven’t settled in. I hoped that by returning, you’d perhaps do better. Maybe you’d form some connection to someone.” He stood beside her. “You had mentioned Butch, your old boyfriend. I thought, perhaps you would like to see him again.”

 

She flinched at his word, at the way they made her feel like an inconvenience. “So, you’re tired of dealing with me?”

 

A soft sigh. “That is not what I said-“

 

Amy shook her head and walked forward, leaving Charon and whatever he wanted to say behind.

 

She’d expected to walk in and get this sense of the familiar. She’d walked these walls her entire life.

 

They closed in on her, made her uneasy. They reminded her of the walls of her old cell. Her breathing threatened to stop.

 

Until she heard the steady footsteps of Charon, heavy and even and familiar. It let her pull in a deep breath. She was fine. This was fine.

 

Around the corner, Amy found Officer Gomez.

 

“Amy? How did you get in here?”

 

Amy pointed over her shoulder. “Door.”

 

Gomez sighed, the same look she remembered from so many infractions over the years. “You aren’t supposed to be here, Amy. This isn’t the same place it was when you left. A lot has happened, and the Overseer would want me to take you into custody if he knew you were here.”

 

“What happened?”

 

Gomez opened his mouth to speak until his gaze shifted up to see Charon. The moment that happened, he lifted his weapon, eyes wide.

 

Amy moved over to stand in front of Charon, despite the fact she didn’t come close to covering him all. “Wait! He’s a friend.”

 

“You’re friends with things like that?”

 

“Yes, so why don’t you put down your gun.”

 

Gomez didn’t obey, his eyes narrowed on Charon. “And what do you have to say for yourself?”

 

“That you should put down that weapon, because at the moment? You’re pointing it at her and that does not make me very happy.”

 

“Are you going to cause problems?”

 

Charon shifted Amy back so the gun pointed only at him. “I am honor-bound to serve her. I’ll do nothing she does not wish me to.”

 

“See? He’s fine. Now, tell me what’s been going on.”

 

#

 

Charon wanted to leave.

 

He’d known the vault might have its issues, given she’d been forced to flee it. Still, he’d thought that in the time since it would have settled down. In fact, he wasn’t above getting rid of the Overseer himself, just like he had Moriarty.

 

However, the further they moved through the vault the more obvious it became that things had not settled down.

 

The quiet calm Amy had spoken of to him in the moments they’d spoken in her cell had transformed to tension in the small walkways and metal walls.

 

They’d explained that a group of rebels had started to cause problems, wanting to leave the vault and explain the wasteland. He could understand that mindset.

 

After being trapped for so long, the idea of anyone being stuck anywhere they didn’t want to be had him uneasy.

 

Amy appeared to share the sentiment, her tension increasing as they moved through the vault, as they realized how close to violence the situation had become. One good spark would set the entire vault off. Every corner they turned was someone else looking for a fight. 

 

They rounded a corner when Amy stopped so far, Charon ran into the back of her.

 

“Amy!” A boy, black hair slicked back and leather jacket on rushed forward. He threw his arms around Amy and pulled her against his chest. “Never thought I’d see you again, nosebleed.”

 

The muscles in Amy’s back stood out, her body held tight, but she didn’t shove away. After a moment, when he let her go, she took a big step back to put lots. “Leave it to you to cause all these problems, huh Butch?”

 

Ah. This was Butch.

 

Charon ran his hand over his head, feeling the deep ridges and tufts of hair left over. A far cry from the boy in front of him, his perfect hair, his easy smile.

 

“You know how it is. We always were meant for more than living and dying in a damned vault. You’ve gotta help us, though. Talk to the Overseer, make him see reason. Hell, if that doesn’t work, go to the reactor and wreck the air purifiers. Whatever it takes, just get us out of here, because if this keeps going, someone’s gonna end up hurt.” Butch lifted his gaze past Amy, to rest on Charon. “What is that?”

 

Yeah, Charon had heard that as long as he could remember, and he understood it. It wasn’t like vault-dwellers would have seen many ghouls, and he looked rough even for a ghoul. Nothing like an almost seven-foot-tall walking corpse to say ‘welcome to the wasteland.’

 

Leave it to Amy and her damned charm, though. She set a hand on Charon’s arm. “This is Charon. He’s my friend.”

 

“Friend, huh? Some interesting friends you’ve made out there.”

 

“Well, he’s the only reason I’m alive at all.”

 

Butch nodded, though he kept his gaze on Charon. “I could see that. Look, Amy, let’s get out of here, huh? You and I, we always talked about leaving. Always talked about going out there, making a name for ourselves. Let’s go, you and I and. . .” He looked Charon up and down. “And him, I guess. An extra gun is always useful.”

 

“It’s not like you thought it would be out there, Butch. It’s not like we thought at all. It’s ugly, and it’s-“ She pulled in a harsh breath, voice cracking.

 

Charon set a hand on her back.

 

She leaned into the touch, took a deep breath, then nodded. “It’s not like you think it is out there. The vault, it’s not perfect, but it’s not so bad. It's safe.”

 

Butch shook his head. “I don’t care what it’s like out there. I can’t stay in here anymore, not for another day. We sat there together and talked about what we wanted, and you left, but you left me behind. I’m leaving and what happens from there is up to you. We can stick together or I can go my own way, but I’m done here.”

 

Charon shook his head at the fool. He was even less prepared for the world outside that door than Amy had been. The kid was arrogant, and all that arrogance was unearned. Worse? Despite Charon bringing Amy here, despite him wanting something more for her, one look at this kid said he wasn’t good enough for her. It had him wanting to snarl to scare off the kid.

 

Amy took a step backward and bumped into Charon. “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

“Why don’t I come with you?”

 

“No. We’ll handle it.”

 

Butch reached out and took Amy’s hand in his. “I’ll meet you at the vault door when it’s done, yeah?”

 

Amy stared at their hands, her body rigid, her fear a living thing in the room. “Yeah,” she whispered before pulling her hand away.

 

She turned and rushed from the room, Charon on her heels.

 

“He’ll never survive out there alone,” Charon told her.

 

“I know. I would have thought he could have before. I thought I could. I was wrong about that.”

 

“So what are you going to do?”

 

Amy didn’t slow down as she took the stairs to the next level. “I’m going to talk to the Overseer. Butch, he’ll either leave here or he’ll get himself killed trying. I can’t let that happen.”

 

Charon caught her arm as they turned the corner in the stairs, pulling her to a stop. “Take a breath, smoothskin. You can’t run in there, not with things the way they are. The security we have seen is heavily armored and looking for a fight. Rush in there and they’ll give that fight to you.”

 

Amy lowered her eyes to where Charon touched her, but she didn’t tense the way she had when Butch had touched her. She leaned in, setting her hand on his chest, fingers spread out.

 

The touch sunk into him, past his clothing, past his chest, down into him. She never touched him, not willingly, not like this. He wanted to close his eyes, to press into the touch, to pull her closer. It reminded him of how he’d felt waking up beside her, his arm thrown around her.

 

She leaned in closer, going to her toes. Her breath spilled across his chin. He'd have to tilt his head down for her to reach, to cross that last bit of distance for her, to offer what she was asking for. 

 

No.

 

Charon took his hand from her and stepped away.

 

Hurt crossed her features, and he wanted to wipe that away, to explain, something. He wanted to smooth his fingers over the lines between her eyes, to rub it away. She deserved to understand that it wasn’t her. She needed something more than Charon could ever offer her.

 

He wasn’t good enough for her, wasn’t right for her, couldn’t offer her anything. She didn’t even want him, not really. She was just reaching for something, and he was the only solid thing she could hold onto.

 

That didn’t mean it was right, didn’t mean he could let her.

 

“Right,” she said. “Of course.”

 

“Look-“

 

“-let’s go find the Overseer.” She moved past him, ducking her head and not looking at him.

 

All the shame on her face was just more proof of how not right he was for her.

 


	13. Chapter 13

 Amy refused to think about the way Charon had pulled away from her. She could unpack that later, cry about it when he was gone.

 

He’d brought her to the vault to hand her off to someone else, so why would she ever think he’d be interested?

 

He’d seen what had happened with Ahzrukhal, had a front row seat to her humiliation. Hard to blame him for not being interested now. Who would be able to ever look at a person the same way again?

 

She shoved the thoughts away. She could deal with that later. First? First, it was the Overseer.

 

Charon proved a good enough distraction that the security didn’t fire at her when they turned most corners. Seemed tangling with something like Charon was above their paygrades. Most pretended not to notice Amy or him, and the few who ran straight into them made excuses.

 

It worked out because if Amy and Charon started shooting, there was no way to get out of this without a lot more death on her hands than she wanted.

 

She knew damned well Charon could clear the vault all on his own. Security barely knew how to operate the weapons they had let alone how to truly fight. It left them at a disadvantage, one Amy was glad to not have to prove.

 

Around the last corner, Amy ran into the chest of the Overseer.

 

Before Ahzrukhal, she’d thought him evil. A man who had Jonas killed, who lied to an entire vault, who would have had her father and her killed. Funny how she could have so hated a man who’d meant so much to her growing up. He’d been a source of structure and comfort in the vault: the Overseer who kept them all safe.

 

After Ahzrukhal, she saw him differently. He wasn’t evil, not like Ahzrukhal had been, not like the people she’d met in the Wasteland. He was flawed, and frightened, and wrong, but not evil. The choices he made, even the terrible ones, they’d been made out of a desire to take care of the vault.

 

It hadn’t been an easy understanding to come to, but it was one Ahzrukhal had helped her realize. Once you meet evil, once you look something evil in the eye, it became easier to recognize when people just made bad choices.

 

“So you came back? I would have thought after you and your father ruined everything, you’d stay away. You sure worked hard to get out of this vault, why go through the work of coming back?” The Overseer set his hand on his pistol, but he didn’t remove it from its holster.

 

“This is my home. The only reason I ran was that you killed Jonas, you would have killed me.”

 

“That wasn’t my fault. I warned your father when we let you two in that it was a one-way trip. He knew the rules when he came here, but decided he didn’t want to play by them any longer. This is on his shoulders, not mine.” His hand trembled despite his face giving nothing away.

 

Just a frightened man. Anyone could do evil things when frightened.

 

“You can’t keep going on like this.” Amy took a step forward despite Charon’s unhappy grumble. “This vault is dying. Our equipment breaks down constantly and it’s almost impossible to find replacement parts. Food and water are becoming more difficult and the air filtration system is one bad day from going out. We don’t have enough people to keep reproducing, and in the next generation or two genetic diversity is going to start being a big problem. You’re smart enough to see that keeping that door closed is going to get everyone killed.”

 

“It’s my job to protect the vault. Everything outside of that door is just waiting to kill us all off. I can see it in your eyes, Amy. You were out there, you know what’s out there. Do you really think that’s the better choice?”

 

Amy sighed. She should tell him it’s all rainbows and sunshine out there. She should defuse the situation by telling him the world out there had changed, that it was safe.

 

She couldn’t bring herself to lie. “The world out there is a mess. It’s filthy, and dangerous, and lethal. However, if I’d been prepared for it, if someone had bothered to get me ready for it, I would have had a chance. Don’t you get that? This vault, these people, they’re going to have to deal with the outside world. Your choice is to either help them be ready for it or keep them ignorant. Trust me, ignorance has a high cost.”

 

The Overseer opened his mouth then snapped it shut again. After a moment, he nodded, gaze on the floor. “You’re right. I’m trying to save the vault, but in doing so, I’m risking the people. I don’t know what’s right, but I suppose people should have the ability to make the choice for themselves.”

 

“So you’ll open the vault?”

 

He shook his head. “I won’t be held responsible for this. I’ll step down and put Amata in charge. She’ll do what the residents want. Maybe it’s time for new blood, for new choices.” He lifted his gaze to nail Amy with a hard look. “Everything is going to change here, Amy, and that’s on your shoulders. For good or bad, this all happened because of you.”

 

#

 

Charon stood by the vault door trying to hold fast to his temper.

 

Amata, the two-faced girl who was supposed to be Amy’s friend, stood there explaining to them why she had to leave. Too many hurt feelings, too much pain on all sides. They needed to heal and too many saw Amy as the cause.

 

She tried to pretend to be Amy’s friend even as she kicked Amy out of the only home the girl had ever had, even after Amy had risked her life to help them all.

 

Amy, being who she was, said nothing against it. She accepted the decision without complaint despite the heartache in her eyes.

 

Amata had walked back into the vault on his own, closing the door behind her. The latch of it had Amy flinching.

 

“Good riddance,” Butch said at the door. “We don’t need them, Amy. We don’t need any of them. We’ll head out, we’ll take the Tunnel Snakes out to the real world.”

 

Amy sighed and shook her head. “And what do you think we’ll do out there, Butch? What exactly is it you think is out there? Some grand adventure?”

 

“I don’t know, but I know it’s a hell of a lot better than some dark and boring vault!”

 

She pulled her armor, tightening the straps at her waist like Charon had done for her earlier. “Let’s go.”

 

The trip back to Megaton went without incident, though Butch refused to shut up. He jumped at the molerat that jumped out at them and shielded his eyes against the sunlight.

 

The kid was going to get eaten alive.

 

Back at the Saloon, Nova flirted as she always did. One look at the newest mark in town and she about fell all over herself, offering a first time free.

 

Butch turned her down, something that surprised the hell out of Charon. Nerves? A desire to look at his options first?

 

Hell, Amy had been a virgin, maybe the kid still was.

 

Amy spoke to Nova, and Charon caught enough to know she asked her and Gob to keep an eye on Butch. A quick goodbye to the kid and Amy left through the back door like she could avoid Charon, like he wouldn’t know.

 

He followed her back to the house they shared, and even though she didn’t look back, she’d know he was there.

 

Once in the house, she pulled at the armor, letting the chest piece clatter to the floor.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said.

 

Amy didn’t turn around. “For what?”

 

He wanted to apologize for the kiss. Or the kiss that hadn’t happened. Or, perhaps not apologize for not kissing her, because he still couldn’t bring himself to even consider such a thing, but apologize for upsetting her, for hurting her.

 

Instead, he went with something safer. “I am sorry the vault turned out the way it did. That couldn’t have been the result you’d been hoping for.”

 

“No. Sort of fits with everything else though, doesn’t it? That’s what the world is out here, it’s just one thing that didn’t turn out the way you wanted after another.”

 

“Smoothskin-“

 

Amy turned on him and pointed a finger at him, all anger. At least anger was better than sadness. “-Don’t you call me that. Use my name.”

 

“Amy,” he said, voice low, his contract compelling him to do as she said.

 

She walked up to him and curled her fingers in his shirt, causing the fabric to pull tight around his frame. “Kiss me.”

 

He held back, choosing to take the words as a request and not an order. “That isn’t-“

 

She yanked at his shirt, going to her toes. “Kiss me, now.”

 

No more pretending it wasn’t an order. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. He kept his hands away, kept the kiss gentle, tried to stay uninvolved. It could not turn into the kiss he’d given her before, the one where he’d held her still and ground his cock against her.

 

She tilted her head, brushing her lips across his bottom lip. He couldn’t hold in the groan when the tip of her tongue traced that lip, the light, wet warmth of it.

 

“Touch me,” she asked against his lips. “Please?”

 

This was a disaster. He wanted to do as she asked, to reach out, to give her anything. The plea in her voice made it worse.

 

His hand went to her hip as he tried to tightrope walk the narrow line between what she ordered and what he wanted and what he knew was a mistake. He didn’t grip her, didn’t pull her closer, didn’t return the kiss.

 

She went still, and he yanked his hand away. Had he gone too far? Had he frightened her? He’d known damned well this had been a mistake.

 

Amy pulled back, refusing to look at him again. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

 

“Sorry?”

 

“I used you, used the fact you couldn’t turn me down. If anyone knows better than that, it should be me.” Her voice broke softly, the anger having drifted away.

 

Fuck, keeping up with her moods was giving him a headache. She was unhinged, trampling from angry to horny to upset and he couldn’t get a handle on any of it. Leave it to the little spit of a vault dweller to be more than he could handle.

 

“I am not angry.”

 

She shook her head and walked toward her room. “No, you’re never angry, are you?”

 

“Wait-“ He went to follow her up the stairs, to talk to her, to reassure her. While the kiss was too far, he wanted to pull her into a hug, wanted to get some closeness.

 

She held a hand up behind her. “Don't follow me. Go on, do whatever you want. Go get drunk or have some fun with Nova or whatever you want. You’ve more than earned some time not watching over me.”

 

He set a foot on the bottom step, staring up at her, willing her to turn around, to just look at him. “Don’t send me away, please. Yell at me, punish me, order me to do anything and I'll do it for you, but don’t send me away.”

 

Amy paused at the door to her room, her knuckles white as she gripped the frame, but kept her back to him. “Do whatever you want, but I don’t want to see you tonight.”

 

The door closed, then the creak of her bed as she laid down.

 

Charon waited in the silence of the house until he felt sure she’d fallen asleep. When he left the house, the locked it behind him, checked for threats around the place.

 

If she wanted him gone for the night, he’d leave for the night. It didn’t matter how much it wasn’t what he wanted, or how much he didn’t think it was what she really wanted, he had no choice.

 

He could do nothing for her right then, so he headed for the saloon.

 

Time to see if her little boyfriend was worthy of her, and maybe put a good dose of fear into the kid.


	14. Chapter 14

The kid sat at the bar, elbows on the top, a beer in his hand. Nova sat beside him, leaning toward him, face sweet.

 

Nova was working when she wanted, now, though Charon hadn’t seen her take any clients. What he had seen was the looks Gob and her exchanged, and now that the Saloon had passed to Gob, she didn’t need to work. Saloon would bring in enough caps for the two of them to keep them well off, which meant she didn’t have anything to pay off anymore.

 

And, maybe it was something self-serving in him that wanted to see Nova and Gob end up together. He wanted to see them get something of a happy ending.

 

The two deserved it.

 

“Charon,” Nova said, pushing to her feet. She crossed the bar to him, that same ease she did everything else with. “I thought you’d be gone for the night.”

 

“I wanted to have a word with him.” Charon nodded toward Butch.

 

Nova lifted one of her eyebrows. “A word? Do I need to worry about blood?”

 

“I can tell you after we talk.”

 

Nora wrapped her fingers around Charon’s arm as he went to pass her. “Go easy on him. He’s just a kid.”

 

“He is not that much younger than you are. Only, what? A few years?”

 

“We both know years don’t pass the same for everyone. Butch, Amy, they’re young because they didn’t get a chance to grow up. Could be eighty, but wander out of a vault for the first time, you’re a kid. You and I? We’re old because life beat it into us. Doesn’t matter what a calendar says, life made us old, a long time ago. Just remember that when talking to him, won’t you?”

 

Charon dropped his gaze to where she touched him. “What do you care? Hoping for a client?”

 

Nova looked over behind the bar at Gob, a flush on her cheeks. “No. I’m not taking clients, and even if I was? Kid is too young for me. I just don’t want to see him get killed because you’re jealous.” Nova released Charon and walked away.

 

Damn, that woman saw too much, knew too much. She might not carry a shotgun around like he did, but she knew damned well how to cut a person down.

 

Butch turned when Charon took the seat beside him. “Where’s Amy?”

 

“Asleep.” Charon turned his gaze to Gob. “Water, please.”

 

Butch pulled his knife from the waist of his pants, then flicked the blade out. He pressed the tip against the bar to seat the blade again, then flicked it back open. “So, how is it you know Amy? Girl I know wouldn’t have anything to do with you.”

 

“Knew.”

 

“What?”

 

Charon took the water from Gob, opened it then took a drink. “You knew her. Who she was is not who she is.”

 

“Got that idea when I saw her on your heels. Don’t know what you think you’re doing, but she’s mine.” The snap and recoil of the knife continued as Butch played with it, the ridiculous little blade that wouldn’t hurt a radroach.

 

“She belongs to no one but herself. I suggest you don’t ever imply anything differently.”

 

“Or what?”

 

Charon pulled his own knife from his belt, easily twice the size of the kid’s, and brought it down on the bar between them, burying the tip into the wood. “You would probably not enjoy finding out.”

 

Butch swallowed loudly before the click of his knife said he’d retracted the blade for good. “And just how did she end up around someone like you? What are you, anyway?”

 

“She is my employer.”

 

“Employer? So, you’re like, a bodyguard?”

 

It was close enough. The kid didn’t need to know anything more specific. “Basically. It means I will protect her without hesitation, in case you were thinking about betraying her.”

 

Butch twisted to stare at Charon. “I wouldn’t betray her. Her and I? We got something special between us, always have. We didn’t always get along, butted heads all the time, but that was just the close quarters, the stress.”

 

“You never hurt her, right?”

 

“Nah, not like that. Well, I mean, when we were younger we fought now and then. Bloodied each other’s noses more than once. Got a little older and realized there were better ways to deal with our annoyance of each other. Man, those nights, those were good times. I used to bring her presents. Never told anyone, of course. Hell, no one knew about us at all. She liked candy but there wasn’t a lot of it. I’d bring it for her when I could and she’d forgive me for whatever dumb shit I’d done or said.”

 

Charon’s lip curled up at the thought of this kid with his hands on Amy. “Avoid any butting of heads. She doesn’t need you upsetting her.”

 

Butch shook his head, twisting again so he faced the bar. “She’s tough. Tougher than you realize, I think. We always talked about starting our gang, about getting the Tunnel Snakes out into the real world. I’m telling you, her and I? We’re gonna go out, and we’re gonna make a hell of a splash.”

 

“She was right, you have no idea what the world is like out here. The raiders out here will chew you up and spit you out.”

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m gonna be king of our little gang and Amy? She’s gonna be my queen.”

 

Charon huffed something that was almost a laugh. “Yeah, good luck with that, kid.”

 

“I ain’t a kid. I’m tough, too.”

 

“Right. How many people have you killed?”

 

He frowned, rotating the beer bottle so the beer sloshed. “None, not yet, but that’s just cause I was in the vault.” He took a drink of the beer, a big gulp that had him coughing at the end before he wiped his mouth. “And since you think you’re such hot shit, how many people have you killed?”

 

Charon pushed the empty can of water across the bar to Gob. “How many folks did you have in your vault? A hundred? Let’s just say I have killed more people than you have ever met in your life.” He wrapped his fingers around the knife still stuck in the bar and yanked it out. “Think about that in you every consider hurting Amy. I have no problem adding you to my very long list.”

 

#

 

Amy woke, eyes sore, head pounding. Sleep hadn’t come easy. She’d held the tears back while Charon had been there, but the moment the door had closed behind him, the moment he’d left, she’d broken down.

 

It was partly his rejection, partly how she’d treated him. All in all, it was a disaster, and she hated feeling as if her one rock, the one person in the whole world who made her feel like things could be okay was so far away.

 

Even when they stood beside each other, he seemed miles away, the issues ones she didn’t know how to cross.

 

Her eyes opened to take in the still dark room.

 

She went to close them, to roll over and fall back asleep where at least she think, didn’t hurt, but a huge dark shadow in the room had her bolting upright.

 

“It is me.” Charon’s rough voice had her clamping her mouth shut before she released the scream that had started. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

 

Amy swallowed hard and pulled the blanket up higher around her. She wore pajama’s, but they covered the bare minimum and after his rejection of her, she wasn’t feeling very confident. “I thought I said I didn’t want to see you tonight.”

 

Charon moved forward, the moonlight from the window allowing her to see him more clearly. “It is two. Night ended at midnight, which makes this morning.”

 

“You’re good at skirting the rules, aren’t you?”

 

“It’s a skill I learned when people liked to give me orders. They tell me to get rid of someone, and I can decide that means to take them to the city limits and make sure they run. Vagueness is a weapon I learned to use.”

 

Amy folded her legs in front of her before she forced herself to revisit the topic. “I really am sorry about earlier.” She lifted her hand to stop him when he went to respond. She needed to get through this. “Holding your contract doesn’t change that you’re my friend, and I was wrong. I promise I won’t ever use your contract against you again. Will you forgive me?”

 

His throat moved when he swallowed. Nervous? “Yes. I forgive you. It is behind us, and I don’t want you to think about it anymore.”

 

Amy released a shaky breath, knowing she damned well didn’t deserve his forgiveness but grateful for it all the same. “Okay. So, what was so important you wanted to come visit at two in the morning?”

 

Charon lifted his hand, a small box in it. He gave it to her.

 

Amy pulled the top off, a frown on her lips. A gift? Charon didn’t give gifts. He did many things for her, brought her things, but he never gave them to her like this.

 

Candy.

 

The sight of the red hard candies in the box had her laughing softly. “So, I take it you talked to Butch and decided to take a page from his book?”

 

His foot shuffled on the ground. “He seemed to imply it had gotten him out of trouble in the past.”

 

“Where did you even find candy? Especially at two in the morning?”

 

“I woke up Manya.”

 

Amy laughed as she popped a piece into her mouth, then patted the bed for Charon to sit. “You woke her up so she could make candy? And she was okay with that?”

 

“I was insistent.” He must have read the look on her face because he shook her head. “I did not harm her, don’t worry. I paid her for the material and listened to her husband talk about the Enclave until they were finished.”

“Thank you, but you had nothing to apologize for. Butch did this because his mouth was always getting him into trouble. He’d want to look tough in front of his friends, and a lot of the time that meant talking down to me. He’d bring me things so I wouldn’t be mad at him. You? You’ve never needed to make anything up to me.”

 

“I do. I have not been clear with you, have not been honest. It’s lead to some misunderstandings.” He turned so he could face her. “You feel like I’ve rejected you, correct?”

 

“You have. I mean, you’ve made it pretty clear you’re not interested in me.” She crossed her arms, one hand wrapping around the upper arm of the other.

 

Charon set his hand on her knee, and even through the blanket, the weight reassured her. “That is not entirely accurate. I’m sure you remember when you kissed me, the night I killed Ahzrukhal. That was not the reaction of someone uninterested.”

 

“So why do you keep pushing me away?”

 

“Because you deserve more, Amy. You deserve to have someone who can do more for you, be more. Me? I. . .” He hesitated, his free hand opening and then closing again. “I am a killer and a slave. I watched you being hurt by Ahzrukhal and did nothing to stop it, could do nothing. I am a ghoul, and after Ahzrukhal, I can’t see how that could be healthy or good for you.”

 

The words had Amy hesitating. Yeah, she remembered how it had felt when Charon had returned her kiss, when he’d gripped her, when she’d felt him grinding against her. It had terrified her, but in the time since? The distance had dulled the fear, given her the space to think back on it.

 

And now? Now it stirred something else in her. Not lust, not yet, but the slight spark of warmth that said maybe she could feel that lust again.

 

“I do not understand why you would want me. You have Butch, you could have anyone. Why would you be interested in me? I simply cannot understand it.”

 

Amy took one hand out of the blanket and set it on his. “When I lived in the vault, I felt safe. Trapped, sure, but safe. From the moment I stepped out of it, out into this world, I lost that feeling. Ahzrukhal only made it worse, made me recognize how damned unsafe the world really was. I see enemies and danger in everything, in everyone.” She drew in a breath before admitted the truth. “Except you. You make me feel safe. I trust you, Charon. I don’t know what I want, not exactly, but I know you’re the only person I feel safe enough around to try.”

 

His gaze lingered on their hands, the ridges of his eyebrows drawn together. “It’s my contact, isn’t it? It makes you feel like you have a leash? Like you are safe to try things that make you fearful because you know you can stop it at any time?” 

 

She hunched her shoulders. “That’s terrible, isn’t it?”

 

“Not really, no. It makes sense in many ways. I represent someone you can trust because I cannot hurt you or disobey you. It would ease some of your fears.”

 

 “So, are you turning me down anymore?”

 

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze still on their hands where they touched. His tongue came out and wet what was left of his lips. “I have a few requests. First, it must be slow.” He blew out a slow breath, then shook his head. “Very slow. Also? I wish for you to still consider someone else, someone better. I can, perhaps, help you with trying things you would like, but in exchange, I want you to be open to other people. Long-term, this isn’t best for you. It is a practice, a way to get you to where you want to be, but that is it.”

 

She went to respond, to tell him he was wrong, that he was better than he thought, but he held up his hand.

 

“It is non-negotiable. It does not need to be today or tomorrow, but you need to at least consider other people, real people, the sort who can give you a good life. Tell me you agree, Amy, or I will not agree to this. You could force me, of course, but you seem to be opposed to that.”

 

“I told you I won’t force you to do anything again, and I meant it. Slow is fine, but someone else?” Her stomach rolled at the thought.

 

He grasped her hand in his tighter. “I’m not saying you need to go find someone else right now. I just don’t want you to shut yourself off to the possibility. Fair?”

 

The idea of touching anyone else, of having any sort of future with anyone else, it made her head hurt. Charon was different, but anyone else? Even Butch, who had touched more of her than anyone else before Ahzrukhal, had her anxiety climbing. Could she handle him stroking those hands over her again?

 

She trembled.

 

“Hey, smoothskin,” he said, setting her candy aside before he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer. “We will deal with it when we get there. Just agree that you’ll try, and I will accept it.”

 

Amy wanted to say no. She wanted to explain that it wasn’t just the contract, it was him. Another person couldn’t make her feel the way he did. However, she knew that explaining that would only lead to more conversation, and she didn’t want that. Instead, she nodded. “Okay. Deal.”

 

He nodded, then took the candy and moved off the bed. He placed the candy on the dresser, then went to the door.

 

“Where are you going?” Was that panic in her voice?

 

He paused at the door. “To get my pajamas from my room. It is late, and I woke you up.”

 

“And then what?”

 

He turned to face her, lips tilted up on one side into a smile that was more nerves than anything else. “Then, I am going to come back and get into that bed with you.”

 

Finally, a plan of Charon’s she agreed with. 


	15. Chapter 15

 

The bar had changed without Moriarty. He'd kept the place dark, quiet, menacing. Now with Gob and Nova in charge, Amy could relax. She could sit at the bar, order a drink, and let her mind drift.

 

She’d left Charon in bed, snuck out while he’d slept. At least, she’d thought he slept. She suspected he might have woken and pretended, for her sake, to give her the privacy of a morning to herself.

 

Charon had killed Moriarty. He hadn't admitted it but didn't didn't change the fact Amy was sure of it. Moriarty was too similar to Ahzrukhal for Charon to tolerate. When Amy had woken to find Moriarty missing, she'd known she wouldn't see the old Irishman again, and she'd been happy about it.

 

The same coldness, the same desire for power drove both men. That sort of drive twisted men, made them go further and further until they did things they'd never have imagined.

 

Besides, Nova and Gob deserved some happiness.  

 

"You're thinking." Gob pushed a Fancy Lad Cake on a plate to her.

 

"You came from The Underworld, didn't you?"

 

"Yeah, I did."

 

"Do you ever think about going back? Now, without Moriarty keeping you here, do you think about it?" Amy took the cake and nibbled off the edge.

 

"I used to, and for a minute, after I found out Charon had killed Ahzrukhal, when I realized I had my freedom, yeah I thought about it. Home is a tempting thing."

 

"Why haven't you?"

 

Gob turned his gaze to Nova, who carried drinks to the few patrons at the table in the corner. "People leave for a few reasons. They're running to something or from something. I realized I didn't need to do either of them. Everything I want, it's here already. I might visit someday, but being a ghoul means it's not that important to do it right away. If there's one thing about being a ghoul that helps, it's that we've got a lot of time. But, the thing is, what I want, what I’ve always wanted, it’s here."

 

Amy nodded as she dragged her finger over the top of the snack cake.

 

"Morning, nosebleed." Butch took the stool to her side and stole her snack cake.

 

Gob reached out and snatched it back, probably only succeeding because Butch pulled back. Gob was a gentle man, but as a ghoul, he held an air of threat Butch didn't know how to deal with.

 

Gob handed it back to Amy. "This is for her, not you."

 

Butch muttered something unkind under his breath with the insult corpse in it before turning toward Amy. "I was wondering when you were going to wake up."

 

"Sorry. Long night." Amy broke the cake in half and handed it to Butch. She couldn't finish it all herself anyway.

 

Butch took his half and popped it into his mouth, crumbs stuck to his lips as he stared at Amy, arm on the bartop. He smacked his lips until he'd finished it. "You look different."

 

"It's been a few months. People change." She didn't meet his gaze, fingers picking off pieces of her own half to eat it slowly.

 

"That ain't it. It's more than just time. You've changed. The girl I knew wouldn't be sleeping with that walking corpse."

 

"Don't talk about him like that."

 

"So you ain't denying it?"

 

"It's not your business."

 

He laughed, low and full of false arrogance. "It used to be. A couple months ain't enough time for you to forget me, is it?"

 

Amy flinched at the hurt in his voice. It wasn't fair to hold him to some high standard here.

 

They'd been together, off and on for years. They’d planned a future together, one that was torn away from him and he had no idea why. Then she disappeared from the vault one night, leaving him on his own, only to come back changed. Anyone would have trouble adjusting to something like that.

 

She couldn't expect him to understand why she'd changed, how she'd changed. He didn't know, and she suer as hell wasn't going to tell him. She didn't need to see how he'd look at her, to risk whatever it would change between them.

 

"I haven't forgotten anything, Butch. It's just, a lot has changed."

 

He nodded, though he'd lost his trademark smirk. "Yeah, I can tell. Before you left, you and I? We were something. How many evenings did we spend together? We were gonna do so many things, had so many plans. Then you step foot in the vault again and it's like you can't stand me. You think I couldn't tell when I hugged you? What? Afraid of your new boyfriend finding out about me? Because I already told him about us."

 

"He's not my boyfriend, and yeah, he knows. I told him about you."

 

"Not your boyfriend? So you're just fucking him?" He let out an ugly laugh. "If you're gonna pay for it, you might as well pick someone better looking. I mean, Nova is a whore, but at least she's pretty. You pay that pile of rot and he doesn't look half as good."

 

Amy went to respond, but Gob leaned forward over the bar. "Out."

 

Butch's back went straight. "I ain't gotta leave."

 

"Yeah, you do."

 

"Why?"

 

Gob leaned in closer, close enough for Butch to be able to see each groove in his skin, each imperfection, making sure to look every bit the monster Butch thought he was. "This is my bar, smoothskin. So far you've insulted Nova, Amy, and Charon, three people who have more worth than one finger of yours. I'd take any of the three as patrons over you. So get out, now."

 

Butch's eyes narrowed, but he'd never been stupid. Arrogant and far too sure of his own skills? Sure, but not stupid. He backed down in as flamboyant a way as he could. He knocked over his stool as he stood. "Yeah, better places to be than this anyway. Fuck this place, and fuck you too, Amy. You lied to me, talking about wanting to wait, and then the second I turn my back you're fucking an abomination. Nothing but a whore, huh? Whatever, I can find better. Stay out of my way, you and that thing, or you won’t like what happens."

 

Amy's temper slipped at that. A spark of her old anger energized her, and she got to her feet, jabbing a finger to the middle of Butch's chest. She looked up into his eyes, the height difference, the size difference, none of it mattered to her right then. Too much anger for any fear to fit.

 

"Let me make myself clear. I ever hear you say a word about Charon again? I'll make you sorry."

 

"We've fought for years, nosebleed. You've never gotten the upper hand against me."

 

"One on one? Nope, and I never will. The thing is, I've learned a lot out here, things that would give you nightmares. Go anywhere near Charon, say anything against him, just look at him wrong and I'll make you pay. I could hire someone to kill you. Jericho would take the job for a few caps since it’d be easy money. Maybe I'll poison your food. You think anyone in this town would care if you died choking on your own tongue? Can you stay up all night? No? You'll need to to make sure I don't just slit your throat in your sleep. Yeah, we've fought for years, but I never had a reason to want you dead before. Don't give me one."

 

He took a step away, eyes wide. His mouth opened then snapped shut before he rushed out.

 

Amy clenched her fists, took a deep breath, then turned back toward Gob. She expected censure, disapproval, something.

 

Instead, Gob grinned. "Well well, smoothskin. Welcome back. It's nice to see that fire again."

 

#

 

Charon walked into Nova's room, surprised by the warmth in it. He'd seen it before, had rented the room but not her when he'd been forced to spend a night in town.

 

It had been cold, empty. Now? Now it reminded him of a real home. Bright red bedding made up the bed, a throw rug worn but still bright.

 

The woman liked colors, that much was clear. It made him want to bring her something the next time he came into town. The dingy white pillow cases seemed a good option for replacement. She’d helped Amy, done right by them; he wanted to thank her for that.

 

"Can I help you, hun?" She stood from her desk.

 

"Am I interrupting?"

 

"Never. I was just going over some of the paperwork, the details. Turns out it's a little harder to run a bar than it is to just work on my back."

 

"I imagine it's harder than shooting people, too, so I can't help."

 

She laughed, smoothing her hands over her shirt. "If you're looking for Amy, I think she was over with Moira."

 

"No. I came to talk to you."

 

"Oh." Nova nodded toward the chair in the corner. As he sat, she shut the door for privacy. "Is everything okay?"

 

"Yes. I mean, I think so. I just needed to talk to someone, and I could not think of a better person."

 

She laughed and sat on the foot of the bed. "Well, I'll admit, not many men come to my room to talk, but people in my line of work, we learn not to be surprised."

 

"You aren't taking clients anymore, so why do you keep calling yourself a whore?" The question wasn't one he was there for, but he couldn't help asking it. Nova might hide beneath a smile and a raunchy joke, but he could hear what she hid, the shame.

 

"It's what everyone here sees when they look at me, so why not embrace it?”

 

"I don't care what you do, Nova. You could screw every person in town and I wouldn't think any differently about you, but you are more than you think you are."

 

"I know what I am."

 

"I don't think you do.” Charon tilted his head as he watched her, meeting her shrewd gaze. “I was trained, upon entering any area, to find potential threats, to eliminate those who posed a threat to me or my job. It is second nature now to walk into a town and make a list of threats. In this town, there are not a great number of them. Jericho, perhaps. The Sheriff if I ran afoul of his rules. Neither in need of removing, however. The only person in this town I would consider taking out would be you."

 

"Me?"

 

He nodded. "You are smart, observant, and have the fortitude to be ruthless. If I were intending to harm someone in this town you cared about, I suspect you would be an obstacle I'd remove first."

 

Nova said nothing at first, just staring at him. Finally, her lips tilted up. "That's both terrifying and flattering. But, that's not why you're here."

 

Charon sighed as he switched over to the topic at hand. "You're right, it's not." His fingers tapped at the armrest of the chair.

 

"Let me guess, this is about Amy? It wasn't hard to guess; not a lot of things make a man as confused as you are except a woman."

 

"I trust you won't repeat any of this, correct? Amy deserves privacy, and this is a sensitive matter."

 

She drug her fingers across her lips. "Lips are zipped, hun. Amy, she's my friend, too. I want the best for you, and I can see the two of you running circles. I want to help if I can."

 

Charon didn't respond at first. He gathered his thoughts, tried to figure out what he wanted to ask.

 

Finally, he decided he'd never been great at talking. No amount of thinking it through would fix that. "She wishes to pursue a physical relationship with me."

 

"Lot of fancy words to say she wants to have sex with you. I have to say, I don't see the problem here. I'm assuming you can do that." Nova cocked an eyebrow up and nodded toward his crotch.

 

"That isn't the issue." Charon didn't flush, didn't fluster. It took more than Nova to throw him. "You saw her when she came back to town. You can guess what she went through."

 

Nova rested her elbows on her knees. "Yeah. I've seen girls like her before, too many of them, really. Moriarty wasn't a good man, but he had rules, still. Sometimes though, people he knew would come through town with their own girls, or they'd try to sell him a new one. Yeah, I saw the look in her eyes in too many other girls. Since you're both here, I'm going to guess you took care of the son of a bitch who did it to her?"

 

"Yes. He's dead, but he's not gone. I see it in her eyes, and I don't know how to help her. She is insistent that she wants some sort of physical relationship with me, and no matter how much I discourage it, she's set on it. I need advice."

 

Nova offered a soft smile, one that looked too old in her young face. "Look, you can't treat her like she's a child. Even if she was before, she isn't now. You've got to trust her to know what she wants. If you don't want it, fine, but stop trying to think for her."

 

"But-"

 

"-No buts. By thinking for her, are you any better than the asshole who took her choices away before?"

 

His lips pressed together as the unfavorable comparison hit home. "Fair enough. It doesn't help my concerns. How do I. . . what should I. . . " He rubbed his eyes with his fingers when the questions didn’t come together.

 

"It's pretty easy, really. I've seen you with her, you're as careful as a person gets already. I've never seen a thing from you that makes me think you can't handle this."

 

"She deserves more, Nova. What if I'm not enough?"

 

Nova reached out and grasped his hand, squeezing it tightly. "Then she'll castrate you. Don't worry too much."

 

And somehow?

 

The words helped.

 

 

#

 

Nova flipped the lock on the door to the saloon as Gob wiped the bar. Her feet ached, her back hurt, and her muscles complained.

 

Sure, she was used to working hard, but as it turned out, running the bar was a different sort of work.

 

How Moriarty and Gob had managed it, she had no idea. Gob had done most of the work himself, and it was a miracle he managed to stay on his feet.

 

"Are you okay?" Gob tossed the rag into the hamper.

 

Nova smiled, grasping a chair and lifting it to set it on the table. "Of course. Almost done."

 

Gob came around and caught Nova's hand as she reached for a second chair. "You're dragging your feet. This will keep, don't worry. We don't have to do it all tonight."

 

"I can do it. I can hold my own here."

 

Gob shook his head and twisted Nova, his grip on her hips. He helped her onto the table, surprising her against with his strength.

 

The years with Moriarty had led her to think of Gob as weak. It was in his meekness, in his willingness to submit. The first time she'd seen him lift a heavy box, hefting it over a shoulder, she'd stared like a love-struck teenager.

 

So when he grasped her hips and lifted her onto the table, it pulled her in as close.

 

Gob pulled the chair still down over and sat. He took her feet and set them in his lap, removing her shoes.

 

His fingers dug into the insole of her foot. "You do too much, push yourself too hard."

 

"You used to do this all by yourself. You're not by yourself now."

 

Gob laughed, continuing to rub her feet. "Just take it easy. We'll figure out a routine here."

 

Nova let her free foot, the one in his lap, slide up his thigh and press against his crotch. "I can think of something to add to our routine."

 

Gob pulled in a shaky breath but didn't move her foot away. "That is fast. We don't need to rush."

 

"It's not rushing anything. Come on, Gob, you've been turning me down since Moriarty went missing. I stopped taking clients, I've washed, what is it? If you can't get over my past, I need to know, I deserve to know. I can't change it. I was a whore, Gob, you know it better than most. If you don't want me-"

 

Gob released her foot and stood, setting his hands on her cheeks. "No, Nova, that's not it. I just-" He pressed his forehead against hers, breath spilling over her lips. "I don't want you to think I'm using you like I'm just another client. You matter to me. I want to make sure you know that before anything else happens."

 

Of course, that was it. How could she have thought anything else from Gob? The man was too damned good for this world, for the filth they lived in. He was always thinking about others, always worried about everyone else.

 

"I already know that. I wouldn't be here if I didn't.” She let out a soft laugh. “You know, I was talking to Charon today about Amy. I told him he needed to trust her. It seems men tonight are in need of some lessons. Trust me, Gob. Trust me to know I want you, to know I'm ready." She brushed her lips against his, the first real contact between them. "Trust me."

 

A shudder rolled down his body, his hands sliding from her cheek to lace behind her neck. He moved closer, her thighs parting to make room for him. He returned the gentle almost-kiss.

 

It shook her. It wasn't the pawing of clients from before, not the force of a tongue down her throat she had to endure, or the tearing of clothing in a rush. This wasn’t a man who had bought her, who rushed toward a prize he felt he already owned.

 

She should have known better. Gob didn't take, just coaxed her into the kiss, his body not crowding her, just a steady strength he'd always been.

 

She remembered the first night she'd worked for Moriarty. The client had paid extra to be her first. Not the first person she'd slept with, thankfully, but the first she'd ever been paid to sleep with.

 

He hadn't cared when she'd cried during. Later, once she'd had more experience, she'd realized he'd liked it.

 

Afterward, Gob had brought her food, had sat with her until she'd fallen asleep. He'd kept her going that first night, the night when she'd been afraid she'd lost everything that had mattered to her.

 

He broke the kiss but didn't pull back. His fingers stroked the back of her neck. "What are you thinking about?"

 

"About how lucky I am to have you."

 

He pulled away, a smile on his lips. "Alright, fine, you win. Let's go."

 

"Go where?"

 

Gob caught her hand and pulled her toward the stairs. "I'm taking you to bed."

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

 

Charon missed little about The Underworld, but he did miss the showers. Megaton had showers and even heated water. The problem lied in the fact number of residents far outweighed what the system could handle, which resulted in most of his shower being ice cold.

 

Still, the ability to wash the dust and grime from him was worth the risk of frostbite.

 

Taking out the raiders who had set up too close to town had been an easy job. Jericho and the sheriff had offered to back him up, sniping from the high walls, but Charon didn't care for the ex-raider putting a bullet in his back during the chaos.

 

Besides, a handful of raiders were hardly worth the concern. He'd dealt with them, leaving bodies in his wake, taking hardly more than a few scratches. One had winged him on a lucky shot, but that was it. He'd left the burying of the bodies to others. He'd done the hard work, let them clean up the mess.

 

He wasn't a kind man, not one to worry too much about others safety, but keeping the town safe kept Amy safe, and that was worth anything to him.

 

"You're bleeding."

 

Charon kept his back to her, just like he had when she'd walked in on him when still in The Underworld. "It's nothing."

 

"You can't reach it to bandage it."

 

"It doesn't require a bandage." Charon twisted his arm to wash the dirt on his forearms. "I picked up soup for dinner. It is already on the stove. Would you stir it so it doesn't burn?"

 

Amy didn't answer, the room silent except for the fall of the water, the splash of it against the cracked tiles.

 

Charon twisted his neck to gaze over his shoulder.

 

Amy stared at him, eyes pinned to his back, her bottom lip between her teeth. That was the look of a woman with a very specific interest in the man in front of her.

 

It wasn't the shy avoidance she'd done when she'd walked in on him in the shower before, the one full of uncertainty.

 

There was nothing uncertain int that look.

 

Charon released a low growl, wanting to turn, to grab her, to pull her close. He could pull her beneath the cold water with him, pull her clothing free, slid his hands-

 

It took all his restraint to shake his head clear. "Smoothskin. The food, please?"

 

Amy jerked her gaze up to his eyes, her cheeks going red. "Right. The food." Her eyes lingered for a moment longer like she didn't really want to look away before she turned and left him alone in the bathroom.

 

Her look stayed with him, though. It reminded him of what Nova had said, what Amy herself had said.

 

That wasn't the face of a frightened girl. No matter if she might be that, at times, he had to remember there was a still a flesh and blood woman with wants as well.

 

At least he hadn't turned around. If he had, Amy would have gotten a full view of his cock, which had taken a good notice of Amy's look, of that lust.

 

He set his hand on the wall and let his face drop forward, the cold water not discouraging his hard-on at all.

 

And wasn't that amazing? Not even ice cold water could make a dent in how much he wanted Amy.

 

Maybe the talk with Nova had helped, had let him remember that Amy was a woman. Sure, he knew it, but he kept trying to force himself to think of her innocently. Each time his mind drifted to more lewd imaginings, he'd rein it in, pull it back, scold himself for such thoughts about a girl who had suffered so much.

 

So, for his first step, he let himself imagine. Just him, the empty room, his fantasies, and his hand.

 

He wrapped that hand around his cock, the sensation strange. When was the last time he'd masturbated? The last time he'd wanted to? When he became too aggressive, too strung tight, he'd find some random woman to slack the lust with, but it was little more than a vigorous exercise. He couldn't even call it pleasurable.

 

His eyes slid closed as he stroked himself, the fingers on the wall curling slightly.

 

He pictured Amy, the curve of her hip that fascinated him. He wasn't a breast man, not really. They were nice but never held his attention. He liked legs, hips, a good ass. Amy had all those things.

 

She'd stopped wearing dresses after they'd escaped, opting to return to pants. He wouldn't complain, as they showed off the parts of her he liked the best.

 

He pictured those thighs of her, the material of pants stretched tight as she bent over.

 

He'd caught himself staring two days before, when she'd been cleaning in the living room, bent over the edge of the couch, that ass framed perfectly in the jeans she'd had on. He’d imagined walking forward and grasping those hips, grinding himself against her, both clothed.

 

He groaned lowly as he stroked himself faster.

 

He'd slide those jeans off, get a good look at her legs in the flesh. They'd feel so good wrapped around his hips, around his back, around his head.

 

The last thought he latched onto. Her hips would writhe, pressing against his face. He could grasp her ass with his hands as he pleasured her, as he pulled every sweet gasp and sign from her.

 

Charon came quickly from the thought, from the image in his head of doing that. It was easier to picture how he'd pleasure her, like it removed him, like it made it okay somehow if she just used him.

 

He spilled onto the floor of the shower, the water catching it and washing away the evidence.

 

When he came down, panting, hand still on the wall, the old doubts came back.

 

What kind of degenerate masturbated in the shower to a girl who had gone through what Amy had?

 

He shook his head, twisting the knobs to turn off the water hard enough they groaned. He forced himself to let go before he broke them. He dressed in a hurry, berating himself in his head.

 

Stupid. Wrong. Filthy.

 

He really was no better than the monster everyone saw.

 

 

#

 

 

Amy stared at Charon as he slept.

 

She couldn't get the sounds he made out of her head.

 

First, that growl, low in his chest, when he'd seen her staring.

 

A sound like that should be met with fear, with people running in the opposite direction. It was the feral sound of a creature ready to attack.

 

And yet she hadn't felt any fear. She wanted to reach out, to touch him, to feel the way his chest would vibrate when he made that noise again. She wanted to be caught by him, knowing that there was no safer place.

 

But she hadn't been brave enough, and when he'd wanted her to leave, she'd fled instead of pushing it.

 

But leaving the room hadn't helped, not when he'd let out those groans.

 

Even with Amy's limited experience, she knew what those groans meant.

 

The thought of Charon, his massive body in the shower, trails of water catching the dim light. She hadn't seen him fully naked, not all of him, so she couldn't bring herself to quite imagine how he'd look. She wasn’t sure she was ready to imagine that. Instead, she took to picturing the way his bicep would flex as he stroked himself, to the twitch of his ass as he shifted his hips forward.

 

She liked those imagines.

 

Another look reassured her that Charon still slept, so she slid her hand down her stomach.

 

She didn't go far or fast, testing it.

 

She hadn't felt this sort of want since before everything had happened, hadn't felt the warmth in her stomach, the restlessness inside her.

 

Her fingers slid over her skin, dipping beneath her tank top to stroke over her stomach, over the points of her hipbones where her sleeping shorts rested low.

 

Her eyes slid closed, content that Charon slept. She pictured his hands on her, the few times he had touched her. His body was heavy, something she liked, something different.

 

Butch had some weight to him, but Ahzrukhal had been thin. He'd been frail and light and spindly, like a spider.

 

Charon wouldn't be like that. He made her feel grounded and stable, his hands stable, gentle. She pictured touching his body.

 

She'd kiss his back, staying behind him, fingers running over his skin, over his ribs, his shoulders. Every muscle would twitch as he stroked himself.

 

Amy let her fingers venture further down. She slid them through the pelvic hair that had grown back. She couldn't bring herself to shave anymore, the action reminding her too much of Ahzrukhal, of his wants.

 

She didn’t care about his wants anymore, and growing it back made her feel like her body was her own again.

 

Her legs parted as her hand continued down. She stroked a single finger across her slit, staying to the side, just memorizing her own body again.

 

When had it become hers again? It had been Ahzrukhal's, stolen from her, foreign and dirtied and defiled.

 

But right then, as she touched her own folds, as tiny sparks of pleasure started from the teasing, she was able to enjoy it.

 

She slipped one finger inside her, and though she braced herself for pain, none came. Just a nice fullness, something that reminded her of when she'd touch herself in the vault, back before it had seemed so daunting, before it had been so damned scary.

 

She wet her lip with her tongue as her hips shifted, tiny rocking motions that happened out of instinct. Her hand took over, muscle memory, the heel of her hand rubbing against her clit.

 

She was close. Sweat beaded on her brow, her lips dry from breathing heavily, but she couldn't get there, couldn't get herself over that edge.

 

Each time she neared, she backed off. Her palm would rise, taking off the pressure, and her mind would drift back.

 

It wasn't Ahzrukhal that she thought of, not exactly. It was her. It was the helplessness in that cell, the way the only thing she could control was her own reaction. She'd shut down that part of her, the one that wanted, that lusted. 

 

Amy pulled her hand from between her legs and covered her face with it, trying to hold in the tears that wanted to fall. She could smell herself on her fingers and it made it worse.

 

A hand set on her shoulder, and it didn't even startle her. Of course, Charon knew. He seemed to know everything. Every failure of hers, every time she screwed up, he knew it all.

 

"I can't do it," she whispered.

 

"It's okay. It will take time."

 

She swallowed hard before she spoke, voice muffled through her hands. "I want to. I want to be my own again. I feel like he still owns me, like I'm still fighting him. I need this, I need to wipe him away." She shuddered hard. “I need my body to be mine again.”

 

Charon moved his hand from her arm, down to her side. His thumb rubbed against her hip just as her fingers had done, and it brought the heat inside her up. She arched into the touch.

 

"I could help. If you wanted me to, if you thought it would help."

 

"I don't want pity."

 

He huffed out a soft sound. Not laughter, more of an annoyed grunt, like he didn't care for the answer. "It's not pity, smoothskin. I have wanted to touch you, thought about it, wished for it. I can be careful, gentle."

 

Her times with Ahzrukhal threatened to swamp her. "Will it hurt?"

 

His hands wrapped around hers, pulling her hands from her face. "I will never hurt you, Amy." The honesty in his face made it impossible to not believe him, to not trust him.

 

"What are you going to do?"

 

"Touch you. That's all, just with my fingers, just enough, and you can tell me to stop at any time. Is that okay?"

 

Amy took a deep breath before she nodded. "Okay."

 

Charon brought her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her palm before he pulled the finger she'd had inside her into his mouth. The warmth of his mouth, his dexterous tongue, they made her gasp.

 

Even better was when he trailed his free hand further down, slipping it into her shorts.

 

Amy rolled to her side, to face him, her top leg lifting to rest on his hip and give him room. "Will you kiss me?"

 

Charon's lips tilted up, but he nodded and leaned in. His lips met hers, hesitant, careful. He didn't press his tongue to the seam of her lips, didn't try to force her to give more. He toyed with her bottom lip, tasting her, his fingers moving to her clit.

 

She released a shaky breath when he didn't try to press a finger into her. She wasn't sure how she'd feel about that, if she was ready for that.

 

"Trust me, smoothskin," he whispered against her lips while his deft fingers glided over her clit, the touch toying and playful and everything she needed.

 

Amy shifted her face to speak into his ear, the action helping to loosen her tongue. "I heard you, in the shower."

 

“Oh.” His fingers paused. " I am sorry. I didn’t realize I’d been so loud."

 

"I didn't ask you to be sorry. When I started in here, I was thinking about you in that shower."

 

There was that growl again, the deep one, the one she could feel pressed up against him. His fingers started to move again. "Come on, now. I know you're close. Just let go; let it happen. I'm right here, won't let a thing happen to you." He rubbed his cheek against her head, that soft nuzzle he liked to do. “Won’t ever let anything happen to you.”

 

Amy dug her fingers into his arm, and it was the flexing of his bicep, the reminder he was right there, that let her finally give in. The orgasm rolled through her, stealing her breath. She arched forward, pressing against him, his hand pinned between their bodies.

 

She pulled in a ragged breath when she could, but his hand remained between her legs, fingers set against her, avoiding her clit. It was an oddly soothing gesture, possessive in a way she liked.

 

Better yet? His chest rose and fell in quick and hard breaths. It told her he wasn't nearly as unaffected as he liked to pretend. That mattered to her. After being rejected, after the fear in her head that he’d never see her that way, that her past had ruined him ever wanting her, his looking disheveled soothed her.

 

"Are you okay?" The rumble of his voice had her smiling, helped to take away the nerves, the discomfort, the embarrassment.

 

"Yeah."

 

He pulled back until he could look at her face, until he could study her himself. After a moment, he nodded.

 

He must have decided she'd told the truth.

 

Amy cast her gaze down toward his crotch, even though the blanket hid everything. "Do you need to. . . "

 

He shook his head. "As you said, I took care of that earlier."

 

"Why?"

 

"Because I knew we would be in this bed together and I did not want to risk upsetting you. Seeing you in there, the look in your eyes, it tempted me. It seemed a better option to handle that issue myself, in private."

 

Amy scooted closer, voice lowering in the quiet room. "Don't next time."

 

"Don't masturbate?"

 

"No. Next time I want to. . . " She buried her face against his chest, unwilling to look directly at him during the conversation.

 

It was one thing to ask for something in the heat of the moment, like when she'd demanded he kiss her. It was another in the quiet of the room, when it was just them, after he'd touched her already, when they were so close. It seemed too intimate, then.

 

Charon pulled his hand away from her, arm wrapping around her instead. "You want to watch or help?"

 

"I don't know. Both?"

 

A rare chuckle left him, low and deep. "Always surprising me, smoothskin."

 

Amy smiled against his chest before she relaxed into the embrace, content to relax in the afterglow, in the moment when she finally felt like herself again.

 


	17. Chapter 17

 

Amy woke when Charon thrashed in the bed beside her. He'd had nightmares some nights, at least that's what she assumed when he'd wake in a rush. He would sit there, breathe slowly for a few moments, then lie back down.

 

She'd been too afraid to ask him what he dreamed about. What she was afraid of, she wasn't sure. Afraid of him not answering? Afraid of him answering? Just afraid of him when upset? Charon was so unshakable, her protection in the new world she found herself in. She couldn’t imagine facing whatever he feared.

 

That night, though, it was different.

 

Charon twisted his head, arms jerking, deep growls rumbling through his throat.

 

Amy sat up and leaned over him, setting a hand on his arm to shake. "Wake up, Charon."

 

He woke in a rush, twisting and pinning her to the bed by a hand to her throat. His lips pulled back to show his teeth, chest thundering. It was the last thing she suspected many people saw.

 

His eyes cleared after a moment, gaze jerking around as he took in his surroundings. The moment he realized who was beneath him, he bolted off her and the bed.

 

"I'm sorry," he muttered as he wiped sweat from his head with his arm. "I didn't realize it was you."

 

Amy sat up, but the fear didn't come, not when he was so unsettled. "What do you dream about?"

 

He stood at the foot of the bed, bare chest rising and falling in hard jerks. His hand drug up his face, then over his head. "Nothing."

 

Of course, nothing. Sometimes Amy wasn't sure they'd ever move past this. He knew so much of her ugly past, had seen it, and yet he offered so little of his own past.

 

Another heartbeat, then he sighed. "I dream about my past."

 

"What about it?"

 

"I've had many employers. Most of them were bastards."

 

That didn't surprise Amy. Good people weren't the type to want to own another person. Even Amy would let him go if she could, would give him back his freedom if there were a way to do so.

 

She said nothing, though. If she spoke, if she said anything, it might break the moment.

 

He pulled in a heavy breath before he started to pace. "You look at me sometimes, smoothskin, like I'm a good person. The truth is, you have no idea. You don't know what I am, the things I’ve done. If you knew that, if you knew who I was, you'd never feel safe with me again."

 

Amy let his words sink in, tried to contemplate them, to give them some weight. He deserved for her to think about it, to decide if he was right.

 

If she knew his past, would she fear him?

 

She couldn't imagine being afraid of him. Startled at times, sure. He was large, and male, and without a doubt lethal. She'd never feared him though, not Charon.

 

"So tell me. Tell me the worst thing you've ever done."

 

He stopped his pacing to turn an incredulous look on her. "So you can fear me, as well?"

 

"I don't think I will, but if I did, isn't it better to know now? I see the way you look at me; I'm there when you toss and turn at night, I know this doesn't go away. You think about it, and it's eating you alive. So, tell me. Put it all out right now, and we'll deal with it."

 

Charon came over, slowly like she might pull away, then sat on the foot of the bed with his back to her. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, hands folded together. "One of my first employers was a woman. Anyone who says women are the weaker sex don’t know anything. She ran the chem trade for that town with the sort of viciousness that would have made Ahzrukhal look soft. She had a younger sister she was mentoring, teaching the ropes. I think she wanted her to take over."

 

Amy wanted to scoot closer, to set a hand on Charon's back, but he'd only bolt if she did that.

 

"The thing is, that sister of hers was too much like her. Both of them arrogant and ambitious. Her sister decided she didn't want to be second place. She wanted real power, and she didn't want to wait. She decided to set up a plan with another dealer to off her sister and take over the whole thing. My employer figured it out, or hell, maybe she knew all along and just wanted her sister to get caught in the act. Either way, why would she do her own dirty work when she had me?"

 

Amy scooted forward to sit beside Charon but not touch him. "So she had you kill her sister? It's not your fault-"

 

"-She didn't have me kill her, at least not right away."

 

Amy mirrored his stance, turning her head to try and catch his gaze, but he wouldn't look at her. His gaze stayed pinned on the wall.

 

"Whatever happened, it wasn't your fault. She made you-"

 

His voice dropped low, the worlds growled out more than spoken. "I raped her, Amy. Her sister ordered it, and I did it. She scratched down my face, and I can still feel those nails in my skin."

 

The confession was the last thing Amy had expected. Maybe she should have, maybe it shouldn't have shocked her, but it did. To her, Charon had been a lifeline. He'd been her solid ground. To think that to another girl, he'd been her Ahzrukhal. No matter if he had no choice in it, if he'd believed he had to, if he hated himself for it, he'd been the body and person above another girl, the reason for that girl’s pain and fear.

 

Amy couldn't reconcile that with the man she knew.

 

He released a bitter laugh. "Yeah, that's what I thought. I don't blame you, if you don't want me around anymore."

 

Amy took a deep breath and shoved her discomfort aside. It wasn't the time to wallow in her own doubt. For once, Charon needed her.

 

She leaned closer to her arm pressed up against his. "Would you have done that if you'd had a choice?"

 

"No." He shoved the word out, unhappy and reluctant.

 

"Did you want to? Was it something you enjoyed?"

 

"Of course not."

 

Amy let her arm snake around him, the absurdity of trying to hold the large ghoul when he did nothing to help not lost on her. "Then you were a victim, too. You think I can't hear it in your voice?  That I can't recognize that? You sound like I do, Charon. Nothing but shame, and fear-"

 

"-I am not afraid."

 

She huffed out a soft laugh at the quick denial. "Of course you're afraid. You're not afraid of her, but you're afraid of being forced into that position again, of another employer doing the same thing, aren't you?"

 

This time he turned his head to look at her, and the hurt in those eyes startled her. "I am terrified, Amy, that I could end up with another employer, and that I could be ordered to hurt you. I don't think I could survive harming you. What if someone ordered me to. . . " His breath sped. "Just like Ahzruhkal. . ."

 

And there it was. The base of his fears, the reason he clung to his self-hatred and doubt. He still thought someone else would own him, and he could be turned to harm her.

 

"How could you ever trust me when I can't trust myself?" He whispered the words.

 

Amy placed her hands on his cheeks and leaned forward, her forehead pressed tight against his so she could whisper back to him. "I trust you. We can only do what we can do, and I have never doubted that you would do anything you could to keep me safe."

 

He went to argue, but Amy let her lips brush his to silence him.

 

She broke the kiss fast, not wanting to crowd him, not after such a revelation.

 

"You can’t expect to win every argument that way."

 

Amy grinned. "I can try. Are you up for the night or do you want to try and get more sleep?"

 

He leaned over to peer out past the curtain. "The sun will be up in an hour. I think the night is over for me. You can sleep more, if you'd like."

 

Amy shook her head, folding her legs before deciding to go all in. Charon was rarely in a talkative mood, and she couldn't let this go. "I need to ask you something."

 

He turned, face full of suspicion. "Yes?"

 

"What do you know about the people who made your contract?"

 

He went about dressing while he answered, words slow and careful. "Not much. I explained to you how it works, the restrictions."

 

"No, I mean the actual people. Do you know where you were? Who they were? Anything?"

 

He shook his head. "I know little. I know where I was trained because before I was given my contract, they wanted a way for me to return should I get separated during a training mission. I don't know who they were, or why they created things like me beyond money."

 

"There were others like you, then?"

 

He nodded as he put his boots on, his ass resting against the dresser. Was he afraid to sit on the bed beside her? "Yes. At first, I found others often. In the years after the bombs fell, as my first employers remained near that place, I would meet others. As the years passed, however, it lessened. I have not seen another in, perhaps, twenty years."

 

So there were more of him? Or there had been, at least.

 

"I want to go back there."

 

Charon took a step backward so fast his heel slammed against the dresser. "No. I should not return."

 

Fear looked strange on his face. Not the tentative fear when they discussed the potential of him harming her, but the very real fear. He looked as if she'd suggested petting a deathclaw.

 

Another part of his training? This fear?

 

"Why not? It's been two hundred years, right? And they were humans, so why not? They're dead."

 

"They are not dead. They couldn't die. Whatever they were, it wasn't. . . it wasn't human." The words came out on a hard shudder. He said it with the same certainty he had when speaking of his contract, words that not his own, words driven by the conditioning he'd undergone.

 

"Aren't you curious? Don't you want to know, after all this time?"

 

"No. That is the past. If you're hoping there is some way to do away with my contract, stop thinking that. There isn't. This is my life, and I've accepted it. It is time you accepted it as well."

 

Amy flinched at the harshness of his tone.

 

He froze, then rubbed his palms against the top of his thighs. "I am sorry. This isn't your fault, and I appreciate that you worry, but the last thing I need or want is false hope. What if I went back and they reclaimed me? What if we returned and they are still there, and they decide to sell me. I . . ." his words trailed off for a moment before continuing. "I don't remember everything from when they trained me. I doubt they would have left themselves without some way to gain power over their property. I can't risk that."

 

Amy let her gaze drop tot he floor. It hurt too much to look at him, to know how deep the people who had trained him had harmed him. Even two hundred years later, they owned him. Amy had started to heal after Ahzrukhal, had started to get her own life back, but after two hundred damned years, Charon still hadn't been able to move forward.

 

Charon's fingers grasped Amy's chin as he crouched in front of her. "You've risked yourself too many times for me."

 

"Promise me you'll think about it. That's all I want, that you'll think about it."

 

He sighed but nodded. "Yes. I promise I will think about it. Now, since we are not going back to sleep, and it is my fault, how about I make us breakfast?"

 

Amy leaned forward and took Charon’s lips in a sweet kiss. She didn't pull back, whispering against his lips. "Or we could stay here and just not sleep."

 

He groaned softly, returning the kiss with more aggression before he pulled away. "Food first."

 

"And after food?"

 

"You are trouble, smoothskin. After food, we can do whatever you'd like."

 

Amy slid off the bed, gathering her sweater and pulling it over her head to ward off the chill of the drafty house. Even as she did it, her gaze trailed along Charon's form, over the wide expanse of his chest, the way his hips narrowed, his thick thighs.

 

A deep growl had her gaze snapping up to his face.

 

He shook his head as he cut short the growl. "After food," he repeated before rushing out.

 

The fact she could unnerve him gave Amy a bit of confidence. Charon, who had no reason to fear much of anything, could turn tail and run from her. Amy chuckled as she followed him down the stairs.

 

Breakfast was going to take forever. . .


	18. Chapter 18

 Her nerve didn't last as long as Amy would have liked. Somewhere between leaving the room and the end of breakfast, her's had gone missing.

 

Maybe it was that when Charon moved away from her, when he went about his day, she stopped remembering who he was.

 

When he was close, his hands on her, his lips against hers, nothing else mattered. He drove every other thought out of her head.

 

Her lack of courage shamed her and worse, he knew it. At the end of breakfast her leg bounced, her finger tapped the table, but he didn't call her out on it.

 

Instead, he cleared the table and pressed a kiss to her head before telling her he was needed on the walls that day.

 

He'd left without another word, and Amy wallowed in her guilt.

 

How was she supposed to be better when she didn't feel better? When it was always one step forward and four back?

 

Sometimes she wondered if it wasn't like a band-aid she should rip it off. A quick thrust and she'd be over it, right?

 

A bit of pain, a bit of fear, and she'd be all better. Just one time and she’d be past it.

 

But. . . she knew Charon well enough to know he'd never be okay with that. The moment she flinched or tensed, he knew and pulled back. There was no way he'd be willing to have sex with her if she panicked.

 

She carded her fingers through her hair before she figured she couldn't hide away all day.

 

A chill filled her that even her sweater couldn't keep out. The dirt crunched beneath her boots.

 

There'd been no sign of Butch for a few days. He'd hired Jericho from what she'd heard, headed off for fame and power, no doubt. Butch had always wanted to reach too far.

 

Still, their last conversation bit at her. He'd been her friend, more than her friend, her lover. Even if they'd never had sex, he'd been important to her. While he'd acted childishly, it wasn't fair to hold him accountable for something he knew nothing about.

 

Hopefully, she could apologize some day. Hell, maybe she'd be well enough she could tell him what happened, explain why things had changed. She couldn't imagine doing it yet, the words sticking in her throat like lumps of dough. No, not yet.

 

But, maybe someday. Hell, that someday was taking shape.

 

When she'd left The Underworld, she'd never have thought she could sleep beside someone, that she could kiss them, that she could want them. A future with anyone, least of all a ghoul, had been beyond even her imagination.

 

That all had changed, though.

 

Now? Now she pictured it. She pictured Charon coming home to a meal she'd cooked. She pictured him leaning down to kiss her, and the way she'd respond without a hint of hesitation.

 

She wandered, running errands. She sold the gear Charon had brought back after the last small camp he'd cleared out near the gates. She always got far better prices than he did.

 

She was more charming. It was hard to admit it, to see anything good in her, but she'd started to accept it. She could charm people, could convince them to help her, to give her better prices. She wasn't Charon, couldn't handle a gun worth anything, but she had other skills.

 

That tiny spark of self-worth had started to gain a footing, especially when Charon would press a kiss to her cheek afterward and rumble out praise.

 

She took a deep breath before deciding enough was enough.

 

 

#

 

Charon stretched his legs out in the chair on the wall. The spot was hidden from the inside of Megaton, meaning he didn't feel on display. He didn't mind guard duty, especially with Jericho gone.

 

Keeping the town safe kept Amy safe. Meant it was a good enough job for him.

 

He groaned as he rolled his head to ease the tension in his neck. He'd been on edge all day.

 

That look from Amy had been taunting him. Damn, he liked the way her eyes had lit up, the promise in them.

 

He kept getting glimpses of that girl. Made him think about who she was before Ahzrukhal. He'd bet she wasn't shy, not unsure. No, he struck her as a tease, the sort to enjoy the game and the chase. He could see her in the Saloon, hip out, leaning forward to tempt her with that ass. She'd catch his gaze and smile, maybe lick her lips to toy with him, force him to wait as she played her game.

 

Every once in a while he got to see that girl. Each time it took his breath away.

 

Yeah, she'd lost her nerve that morning. He couldn't blame her. This sort of thing took time, hell, maybe years before she really got back to herself.

 

Still, each glimpse drew in him more, made him happy to wait however long it took.

 

Not that it helped the tension. She wound him up so easily, and he'd gotten more comfortable with wanting her. He didn't feel like quite the creep anymore by it.

 

The sun had started to dip down behind the mountains by the time the next guard showed up.

 

Good. He was damned ready to see Amy again.

 

#

 

 

Amy held her book in her hands, but she hadn't read any of it. Her mind was on Charon.

 

He sat in his chair across the room, a book in his own lap. He didn't read the novels she did, opting instead for old military history books. They didn't find many of them, but he'd developed quite the collection. Gob kept ensuring any that came through town were held aside, and others gave them when they found them.

 

Charon's fingers dragged over the words, his eyes focused on the pages.

 

She'd had food ready for him when he got back, and he'd yet to mention that morning.

 

The fact he didn't try to pressure her, that he didn't make her feel guilty for not being ready, it helped settle her nerves.

 

She took a deep breath before she set down her book.

 

His gaze snapped up to hers, but he didn't speak.

 

Amy rose off the couch and crossed the room as Charon set his book on the side table.

 

She moved into his lap, straddling him. She set a hand behind his neck to hold him still before she kissed him.

 

His chest rumbled with a groan before he returned the kiss. His lips slid against hers, taking her bottom lip between his, his tongue teasing her lip before slipping past.

 

She slid her hand down his front, hooking it into the waistband of his pants.

 

He broke the kiss, his hand going to the side of her neck to keep her back. "Slow down, smoothskin."

 

"I don't want to slow down." She flicked the button on his pants. "I think we said something about the next time you needed to. . ." Her cheeks burned.

 

"I asked you if you wanted to watch or help."

 

She shifted back on his thighs to give him room. "Watch, I think."

 

He nodded, leaning forward to brush his lips against hers before he unzipped his pants. He pushed back to stretch out before he reached into his pants.

 

She watched, her hands on his shoulders as she waited. Would she panic? This was the first time she'd have actually seen a penis since Azhrukhal, and since she and Butch hadn't gotten that far, it was the first time she'd have been this close on her own.

 

She pulled in a rough breath when he freed his cock from the confines of his pants.

 

His other hand grasped her chin, lifting her gaze to his. "Do not worry. We will go slow."

 

"How is that ever not going to hurt?" Her chest ached at the worry. She should have expected it, given his size in general. Still, Ahzrukhal had hurt her and Charon was far larger. How was she ever going to-

 

He rubbed his thumb against her cheek. "Have I hurt you? I won't ever, Amy. We will go as slow as we need to. We will stop at any time you want to. Trust me, please."

 

Amy leaned in to press her forehead against his. He was right. He'd never pushed her, never rushed her. If he said they could manage it, she believed him.

 

"Should we stop?"

 

"No." She sat back again. "I'm okay. I want to watch, please?"

 

"Brave smoothskin. Okay." He lifted his hips as he settled back in the chair, his hand wrapped around his cock. A deep groan rumbled from his chest as he stroked himself.

 

Amy took her lip between her teeth, the pressure helping to keep her grounded as she watched.

 

His cock has the same grooves in it the rest of his skin did and no foreskin. Was that a consequence from becoming a ghoul, or had he been circumcised as an infant? He was thick, his hand unable to fully encircle him. When his hand reached the top, he'd squeeze the fist tighter.

 

When his hand went all the way down to the base, a drop of pre-come glistened on the slit at the top.

 

She reached, sliding her thumb against the slit, collected the wetness on her finger.

 

A deep growl left his lips, his free hand grasping her hip in a tight grip. He continued to stroke his cock, his hips lifting as if he couldn't help it. Just tiny twitched that drew her attention.

 

What would it feel to be naked and in his lap when he did that? To feel him push into her like that? To have her instead of just using his fist?

 

She brought her finger to her lips and licked his pre-come off. Salty with a sharp bite to it. The rads?

 

He moved so fast she yelped in surprise. He rotated them, dropping her into the chair and dropping to his knees. His hands went to the button of her pants. "Let me?"

 

"I'm not ready-"

 

He shook his head. "Not sex. I want to taste you, want to use my tongue on you until we both come. Can I?"

 

Just the thought of his tongue on her, the thought of how he'd lick her, her thighs around his head, his breath on her cunt, it had her lifting her hips in invitation.

 

He shook his head. "I need to hear you, smoothskin. Do you want that?"

 

"Please?"

 

He looked feral there, between her legs as he undid the button and worked her pants and underwear off. He discarded them in a pile somewhere before his large hands spread her legs wide. His gaze stayed locked between her thighs before he leaned in and dragged his tongue up her slit in one hard lick.

 

He didn't pull back, and the sound he made had her almost pulling back. He sounded out of control, but she still wasn't afraid.

 

Not of Charon.

 

He dropped one hand from her leg, but she didn't touch her with it. It took a moment to wonder what he was doing with it-

 

Oh.

 

The way his shoulder moved told her, didn't it?

 

She let her eyes slide closed as he explored her with his tongue, his mouth. He rolled her clit against his lips, dipped his tongue into her. His free hand spread her open to taste more, to have more.

 

Amy gasped as the sensations overwhelmed her.

 

It was so unlike anything with Ahzrukhal, even anything with Butch. With Butch, she'd been too worried about how she looked, about what would happen to really enjoy herself. With Ahzrukhal, he'd thankfully never cared about making her feel good. It made this new, exciting, and just her and Charon's. She forced her eyes open to watch him.

 

His growls vibrated against her as he focused his attention on her clit, shoulder moving faster to tell her he was close.

 

His gaze came up, over her, locking on her as he worked. To think that a man who could do the things he could would willingly be on his knees for her, it pushed her over the edge.

 

She arched off the chair, giving herself over to the feeling, eyes snapping shut, her hips rolling against him. He didn't stop, though he lightened his touch, offering gentle strokes of his tongue against her.

 

She opened her eyes again just as he pressed a kiss to her thigh, his arm still, his breath hard.

 

"Thank you," he whispered as he peppered kisses against her thigh.

 

"I think I'm supposed to say that."

 

He shook his head and moved to her other thigh, offering the same gentle worship. "You have no reason to trust me, to let me touch you. After what you've been through, after everything, you have no reason to ever let something like me this close to you. I will never stop being grateful for that."

 

Amy shivered as his kisses moved to her hip. Wetness clung to his lips.

 

"I want to go to the place they trained you. Will you take me there?"

 

He paused, a soft sigh drawing goosebumps up on her skin. "Will you force me to?"

 

"No, never."

 

He lifted his gaze then as his tongue snuck out and dipped into her navel after he pushed her shirt up. "Then we will go, because you want it but are willing to give me the choice. We will gather supplies and set out tomorrow. But, I want to know, what are you hoping to gain from this?"

 

She reached down and grasped his chin, pulling forward so he rose above her. His flaccid cock nestled against her cunt, setting off another shiver and moan.

 

"I'm going to find a way to free you, Charon. No, don't argue with me. You said I'd never find a way to free you from Ahzrukhal, but I did. The Overseer said I'd never leave that vault, but I did. Ahzrukhal said I'd never escape him, but I did. I will find a way to destroy that contract, I swear it."

 

And that was one promise she'd do anything to keep.

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for slow updates. My 'a' button is broken on my laptop, lol. It slows down editing.

 

Amy had rarely seen Charon fight. She'd seen him kill Ahzrukhal, though her memory of the event was hazy as best after her head injury.

It meant that seeing him in real battle, watching him snarl and lunge at the super mutants in the ruins of DC, it startled her.

He kept her back, taking more injuries than he needed to keep her safe. Wasn’t that exactly who he was, though?

They had a free moment in the chaos, Charon's back against a wall, his chest rising and falling in jerking motions. His hands fumbled with his weapons, reloading, checking ammunition.

"We need to find a place to rest," Amy said.

"I'm fine." His tone was sharp, something he rarely used with her.

Red caught her attention, seeping out in a circle in his shirt.

That was too much blood to be a superficial wound.

Amy reached for him, but one snarl drove her back.

"It's fine," he growled out.

"You're hurt and bleeding."

"There's nowhere around here to stop, smoothskin. We'll keep going."

"We could stop-"

"-no fucking chance of that. It's fine." He pushed off the wall, but with a single step his weight shifted forward and he fell to one knee.

Amy swung her pack around and fished out a stimpack. Before he could argue, she injected it into his side, as near the injury as she could manage without his cooperation.

He hissed breath in through his teeth. She'd probably injected it too deep, but she wasn't great at this sort of thing.

"Let's go."

"We're not-"

This time Amy stopped his arguing by crouching down and hauling his arm over her shoulders. She helped him up, though his weight caused her to stagger. "You don't get to argue anymore." When he resisted again, Amy used her final card. "If you can't even stand, how will you keep me safe? What happens if someone takes advantage?"

His snarl would have stopped a deathclaw in its tracks. When he cut it off, he didn't argue, instead trying to take as much of his weight off her and staggering toward the one place neither of them wanted to go.

They had to hide out at the place that had ruined her life, the one that she still had nightmares about.

The Underworld.

 

#

 

Amy could barely breathe. The walls of the Underworld closed in on her.

They were in the place Ahzrukhal had lived, just behind the bar.

The ghouls there had rushed her and Charon back there, claiming that Charon had inherited the bar since Azhrukhal had no relatives. The looks they'd given Amy said they knew what had happened to her, what she'd been.

The entire living space smelled like Ahzrukhal. The scrent of those cigars he'd smoked, the clothes in the closet, the musk, all of it.

She fought the urge to vomit at it.

But, it was better than down where she'd been kept. She'd never been up to his living area, so it was better than nothing.

Amy shoved aside the discomfort as she filled a bowl with water from the tap. While she couldn't drink that water, the rads in it would help Charon. She tossed a rag into the bowl and returned to find Charon seated at the table.

He didn't lift his face, gaze locked on the floor.

Amy walked up to him, setting the bowl on the table before reaching for his shirt.

"Don't touch me," he snarled. The tone came out so low, so angry she dropped the rag and jerked back.

He'd never spoken to her like that.

"Sorry." She tried to slow her heart, but she didn't know how to face off against him. He'd never been angry with her, never snapped at her like that.

She went to pull away, but he caught her wrist. Her hand trembled in his grip.

"I'm sorry." His thumb rubbed against her wrist before he lifted his gaze to hers. "I don't like to be injured. People have used it against me too many times in my life, so I've learned to hide it. When someone points it out, I snap."

"I only want to help."

He nodded as he let go of her hand. "I know. I am unused to people wanting to help me."

"How did you get hurt?"

"Super mutant had a knife. Not usual for them, might have been a newly changed one, they can do unusual things. I didn't expect it, and he got me. The stimpack will heal it up, and by tomorrow, we can leave."

"Let me help clean it?"

He breathed in deep draws but didn't respond at first. "I'm not sure the Underworld is where we should be exploring any of this, Amy. This place, it's going to set you off. I can see you on the edge of panic already. Do you really think touching me here is a good idea?"

She swallowed hard before forcing herself to meet his gaze. "I want to help you. You said no one helps you, and I don't want anything to take that away from either of us."

His lips pressed together before he nodded. A soft groan left him as he grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it up and over his head.

She noticed his body, first. Each time she saw more of it, more of that warmth filled her, that quiet want that had grown with time. Despite the radiation burns, the mangled skin, she couldn't help but find him attractive. The wide set of his shoulders, his chest, the way even his ribs were wide. He narrowed slightly around his waist, but he lacked the same curves she had, his body large and packed with muscle. It was the body of a man who'd fought his entire life.

"Are you okay?"

"You're handsome," she said before she could think twice about it.

He let out of soft laugh. "You have low standards, then. I've been called a lot of things in my life, but handsome hasn't been one of them."

Amy forced herself to focus on the task. Blood had dried around the wound, a deep slice on his side, over his ribs. The stimpack had already started to heal it, knitting the sides together.

"I told you it wasn't bad."

She moved to her knees beside him after plucking the bowl of water from the table.

His sharp inhale filled the space.

Amy pushed it aside, putting all her attention on the task. The water made her skin tingle from the radiation. She cleaned the wound with slow, gentle passes.

Even though it had to hurt, he didn't jerk, didn't show any sign of discomfort.

His gaze never left hers, a heavy presence that helped her remember where she was even as she stared at his wound.

She dropped the rag into the bowl once she'd completed the job.

She didn't feel quite done, though. Instead, she let her fingers trail along his side, avoiding the wound, and moving up to his shoulders. Her hands explored in careful strokes, over his collarbones, his chest, to the muscles of his stomach. They flinched beneath her touch, a funny reaction since the pain hadn't elicited anything from him.

It made her feel powerful. She needed more, need to touch more, to feel more. It kept her anxiety at bay, her worried, the past. She rested her cheek on the outside of his thigh, the warmth soothing as she traced over each muscle of his stomach, as she slid along the waist of his pants.

"Smoothskin," he growled.

"Yes?" She twisted her head to gaze up at him, into his dark eyes full of hunger.

"Maybe this is enough."

She was going to ask why, but when her cheek rubbed his thigh, her eyes caught on the way his pants did little to hide his erection.

She waited for the panic, the same panic that had hit her when she'd watched him masturbate the last time.

Only a flutter of unease and something else struck her. She shifted to move his thighs apart, to slide between them, but he jerked backward, knocking the chair over.

 

#

 

Charon bolted. Funny that Amy had the past, and yet Charon acted the skittish one.

Being back in the Underworld had screwed with his head more than he wanted to admit, and the idea of Amy on her knees had proven the final straw.

Being to the side of him he'd accept, but when she'd tried to slide between his thighs?

All he could think about was Ahzruhkal, about the night he'd put Amy on her knees in front of him to torture both Charon and Amy. It made his stomach churn to remember it, to think about how damned helpless he'd felt.

And how was that fair? It hadn't been him, his mouth, his humiliation, and yet he felt that all.

Amy didn't rise from her knees, her face far too innocent. Worse? She dropped that gaze and muttered out a soft apology.

Charon did the only thing he could think of. He dropped to his own knees in front of her, so they both knelt on the floor together, in front of each other. "Don't be sorry. I just. . . I can't. I can't have you like that."

She frowned, then flinched like the memory had reached out and struck her. "Oh. You're thinking of-"

"-You don't have to say it. You told me once you never wanted to speak of it."

"I don't. I just hadn't thought you'd- that this would remind you of that."

"Well, I suppose I didn't make it out of there with a few of my own scars. This place? It's in my head. I can't shake it, can’t stop thinking about what happened. When you knelt there.” He shook his head. “It just doesn't work for me."

Amy slid forward, and he parted his knees so she could crawl closer. Her warm palm pressed against his cheek, her forehead against his. "I get it. It's okay."

He nodded, drawing her scent into his lungs. "This is the penthouse, where he stayed, but there's another apartment on this floor. He never used it, but it's not as nice. What if we stay there? It might not have much-"

"I don't care what it has as long as he never lived there, and you're with me."

He helped her to her feet before they gathered their gear. His side ached, but between his years of fighting and the stimpack, the pain was manageable. A good nights sleep and they could leave come morning.

The other apartment had little:  broken bed he dragged the mattress off of and a bathroom with working water and pipes. Not much, but everything they'd need for the night.

Amy stood by the window, silent, her gaze still raking over his bare chest. That look, the one she gave him always seemed to have him responding. It didn't matter what was happening, when she looked at him like that, he was lost.

"What are you thinking, smoothskin?" He crossed his arms trying to look stern.

"That maybe I'd like to help."

"Help with what?"

Her cheeks flushed. "I wanted to watch last time. This time, I want to help."

Fuck.

He couldn't hope to hold in the groan at that thought.

"Unless earlier made you-"

He cut off her self-conscious rambling with a kiss, silencing her the only way he knew how.

"Yeah, I think I'd like that."

When he pulled away, she grasped the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head.

That girl was going to be the death of him.


End file.
